


Wasteland honeymoons ain't easy, darlin' (but it ain't gonna stop us)

by most_curiously_blue_eyes



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: (OC only), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Asexual Character, Awkward First Times, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubious Science, Goodneighbor, I love Fallout ghouls, M/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-05-03
Packaged: 2019-04-16 09:26:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 44,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14161776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/most_curiously_blue_eyes/pseuds/most_curiously_blue_eyes
Summary: Nick Valentine led a simple life in Diamond City, all things considered. A request for help from an old friend stirs things up a bit. Beginnings are always so innocent, though. There's never a warning when the world's about to go to shit.At least there's already been an apocalypse some two hundred years ago. It can't get much worse than that. Probably.





	1. Trouble brewing in Goodneighbor

It’s not a rare occurrence for Nick Valentine to return to his office from a busy day of investigation to the presence of a client waiting on him in Ellie’s entertaining company. He is, after all, the go-to synth when trouble arises. Usually however, the clients are people he knows, mostly locals from Diamond City itself; once or twice, he recalls being hired by people from nearby settlements who heard about his expertise. Sometimes, he does the odd job for traveling merchants as well. It's not at all unusual for him to be sought after.

A ghoul sitting on the chair and flirting shamelessly with his secretary while tapping the rhythm of a catchy tune with his fingers on the surface of the desk – yes, this is new.

'Good to see you back,' Ellie greets him. 'This is Edwin Sawyer, says he's got something for you.'

The ghoul is tall, although he sits slouched in a way that almost hides it. He's got bright green eyes hazy with radiation-induced cataracts and he squints a lot, so he's probably half-blind like many others of his kind. He's dressed for travel, but his outer jacket made of black leather is probably part of his everyday wear, judging by how it's more worn out than the rest of his outfit. Its design and the insignia sewn in purple thread on the lapels are familiar: Ellie carries the same logo of a skeletal rat with a long tail on her vest. Actually, Nick's probably seen this ghoul before. It's in the face. Nick's good at remembering faces.

The ghoul, ignorant of Nick's careful scrutiny, grins at the curt introduction from Ellie.

‘How may I help you?’ Nick asks, adjusting his coat as he takes a seat on his chair across from Sawyer. Briefly, he wonders how his unusual visitor made it in here without causing an uproar in the city. It's not dark out yet, so he couldn't have used that to his advantage. Curious.

Sawyer shares a look with Ellie before he nods. ‘The mayor sent me,’ he replies. It's obvious he doesn’t mean Mayor McDonough.

‘He said to give you this,’ Sawyer adds and produces a sheet of stained paper folded twice to hide the contents. There's a crooked arrow-struck heart drawn on one side.

‘A note?’ Nick asks. He opens it and reads the short message written in an unexpectedly elegant script.

 

_Valentine,_

_I have a job for you. It’s urgent. Come see me when convenient. As soon as you can._

_Regards,_

_Mayor John Hancock_

 

Short and to the point. Vague and severely lacking in detail. The lettering is wasted on a note like this. The ink is low quality, the paper looks like it may fall apart at any moment. The curves of the font must make it even more difficult to read for the halfway illiterate inhabitants of the post-war Commonwealth which might be actually the point. It’s a detail about John Hancock’s character which makes absolutely no sense, Nick thinks. But the over-the-top, unnecessary flourish exhibited in the short note perfectly matches the man who wrote it. He can't help but feel exasperated. He still remembers teaching that guy to read, what? Twenty five years ago? He can imagine how long it took Hancock to learn writing like this, and how many new swear words were invented in the process.

‘I’m supposed to return with your reply immediately,’ Sawyer says when Nick looks up from the note.

‘In writing?’ Asks the detective and reaches into a coat pocket for his favorite pen. Then he remembers he lost it. He really hopes it'll turn up. It's a really unique pen.

‘In whatever, you can sing him a song about it for all I care,’ says Sawyer, rolling his eyes. ‘The mayor rather hopes to see you arrive with me, I guess. He did say it's important. And urgent.’

‘I have business to finish here, I can leave for Goodneighbor in the morning,’ Nick informs him. He doesn't like to leave in the middle of cases without seeing them to conclusion. It's the only reason. The tightness in his chest where he would have a heart were he human has nothing to do with it. He isn't nervous about seeing Hancock again... and even if he was, that wouldn't matter.

Probably.

Sawyer shrugs, as if he doesn't care one bit. ‘Suit yourself,’ he says and gets up. He looks at Ellie. 'I gotta go. Sure you don't want to come? Ma might actually cry real tears of joy if I bring home a nice girl, and she always liked you,' he teases.

Ellie rolls her eyes, but it looks like she is amused and not annoyed by Sawyer's antics. She swats at his arm, uncharacteristically playful. She says, 'Oh, just go, you big old dummy,' but she's so happy to be in his company Nick is of half a mind to ask the ghoul to stay the night.

Sawyer says he needs to be on his way, however.

'He'll fire me if I'm not back before he gets bored of waiting,' he announces, shaking his head.

The mystery of how he got in undetected solves itself: an aviator cap with goggles and a big scarf to cover the bottom of his face render him unrecognizable. He nods a farewell to Nick before he leaves.

After he's gone, Ellie shakes her head in disapproval which is clearly fake. ‘That man has no manners at all. He sat here for three hours straight and mocked my cooking,’ she complains, but her tone is light. Nick doesn't bring up the fact that her cooking is considered unsuitable for human consumption. As far as he knows, it might actually be more palatable to ghouls, if they have any taste buds left at all.

He hands Ellie the note. She reads it and frowns, visibly worried. ‘Mayor Hancock doesn’t reach out like this very often. And to send his secretary as a messenger? I suppose Edwin of all people knows how to sneak around, but still. It’s very risky. He could have contacted you via radio. What do you think happened?’

Nick shakes his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he says, ‘but I don’t like it.’

‘Maybe you should go tonight?’ Ellie suggests. ‘I can take care of Miles Jackson if he comes asking. It’s just a stolen lounge chair. I don't like the thought of the mayor being in trouble.’

'There's no need,' Nick replies. 'I already know what happened to the lounge chair in question. I spoke to Rona Jackson. She accidentally broke it with Tessa. Apparently, it was too frail to withstand a tryst between young lovers,' he explains dryly. 'Rona will come clean about it. She feels bad about the whole thing, so I'm sure she will make it right with Miles even without my help. There, case closed. It just needs paperwork to become official. Why don't you go to sleep? You need all the rest you can get if you are to handle the city without me for the next few days.'

'Don't you worry about me,' Ellie says with a smirk. 'I can handle this city any day. I grew up in Vic's Goodneighbor. Believe me, this old dump and its problems are pretty tame in comparison.'

Nick nods. He realizes that sometimes, he underestimates his secretary. She's young, only twenty, but incredibly strong. She's been in his employ and care for six years now and never once did she require any help in doing her job, even at the beginning when she was just a scared, barely teenaged girl removed from her home for her own safety. Yeah, she's always been a tough cookie. Of course it's not going to change all of a sudden.

'In that case, I should get ready,' Nick finally decides. 'If I hurry, I may still catch Mr. Sawyer at the city gates. It may be more pleasant to travel in company.'

'Don't count on him for entertainment,' Ellie warns in a joking tone. 'When he doesn't flirt, and he's really terrible at flirting mind you, he mostly just talks about his niece. If you let him, he'll bore you to death.'

'I'll be careful,' Nick promises solemnly.

Ellie giggles. 'Won't this be the first time in forever when you're early rather than late?' She teases.

Nick grumbles in response, 'Young people these days, so rude,' and smirks when Ellie laughs in reply. Her laughter is always so bright in the cramped space of their shared home. Making Ellie laugh is always Nick's go-to strategy when he's nervous or sad. It lightens his mood as well.

He packs lightly. No matter how far away it sometimes seems, in reality it's only about two-and-a-half miles from Diamond City to Goodneighbor, although he is quite certain the distance will seem farther at night. Spare ammunition is always a good idea, so he makes sure to have more than enough. He packs a few Stimpaks to be sure, and he'll be damned if he knows why and how they actually work on him. He takes enough caps to get by, but not enough to be overly sorry if he gets mugged. And that's it. Just the bare necessities. If everything goes well, he expects to be back home soon, anyway. If not, he can get all he needs and more at Daisy's.

He departs half an hour later after promising Ellie to say hello to some of her friends. He has a list with addresses. Poor girl, she must be missing everyone something fierce. Nick makes a mental note to give her a few days of paid holiday leave so that she can visit Goodneighbor after he returns. It's been a while since she last went home.

It's dark outside. There are no stars on the night sky, there never are any in this post-apocalyptic dump of a world surrounded by a shroud of dust stuck high in the atmosphere. The moon is obscured by thick, purplish clouds. At least it doesn't rain. Nick's been finding rain very inconvenient as of late. The holes in his skin, especially the gaping hole in his neck, make it almost impossible to keep his circuitry dry in the rain. It's water-proof, most of it, but the feeling of thin streaks of cold water running down his insides is exceedingly unpleasant. He's made sure not to travel in the wet kind of weather when he can avoid it.

Unfortunately, Nick doesn't catch Edwin Sawyer on his way to Goodneighbor. The ghoul must have taken a different route; perhaps he used a shortcut Nick doesn't know. It's been almost a year since Nick's last visit in Goodneighbor, a lot could've changed throughout that time. Thankfully, the most straightforward way via Boylston Street is uneventful tonight. He passes the Boston Public Library with a sense of longing and regret. He's been wanting to raid it forever, so to speak, because the building must be hiding at least some preserved masterpieces of pre-war literature. What he wouldn't do for a good read of Shakespeare, for a chance to immerse himself in the wistfulness of romantic poetry by Edgar Allan Poe! Not today, though. He's needed elsewhere.

A lone Gunner patrolling the Trinity Church area goes down before he even notices Nick's approach and he's the only hostile Nick encounters on the way. Not even a Mirelurk dwells in the dark. The detective thinks he's exceptionally lucky. There are nights when the entire area is literally swarming with Super Mutants, according to the traders, but he doesn't see or hear a single one.

Goodneighbor at night looks about the same it does in daylight – or better. The town is lively at any hour due to the thriving diversity of its population. It seems like the ghouls who live here need even less sleep than the other drifters who seek their fortune within the town walls. In the first five minutes since passing the entrance gate, Nick is approached by a mercenary looking for a job, two unhappy but very polite prostitutes and a drug dealer inviting trouble – all ghouls. At least the latter gets what he wants: trouble finds him when, upon noticing him, three of the nearby members of the Neighborhood Watch drag him away, presumably to put him in lock-up for unauthorized chem trade rather than to make a strangely enthusiastic purchase.

The Third Rail seems like Nick's best bet for the night. He sincerely doubts he will find the mayor of Goodneighbor in the office at this hour, but it's equally unlikely that Hancock would just go to sleep if he expects Nick's arrival. Soon enough, he's proven correct when he walks down the stairs into the bar filled with the pleasant sounds of jazz music, Magnolia's sultry voice and murmurs of people talking among each other. Hancock is perched on a stool by the bar, nursing a glass of a neon-yellow concoction which likely contains enough radiation to thoroughly burn the brains out of anyone who still has them. Two giggling human women accompany him, both extremely eager to invade his personal space. One's a brunette with big doe eyes which stand out in a striking way in her thin, almost gaunt face. The other is short and wears heavy make-up. They don't stop giggling. Either they've naturally got bubbly personalities or they're high on chems, maybe just drunk, it's difficult to tell from the distance. Nick thinks there's something wrong with them. He can't exactly pinpoint what it is, but – he doesn't trust them.

Hancock doesn't seem to be in the mood for their company at all. Sure, he's laughing with them, but that's about it. To Nick who's known him for years, his body language is painfully obvious: he recognizes the tension in his back, the way he seems to be squeezing the glass, how the grin keeps slipping when he thinks nobody's looking. Nick's seasoned instincts coupled with simple familiarity translate these signs into what must be the truth - Hancock's worried, extremely pissed off, or both.

Intrigued, Nick walks up to the bar and takes a seat a bit to the mayor's right. He attempts to be inconspicuous, but of course Whitechapel Charlie notices him immediately.

'Detective Valentine!' The robot greets, voice heavy with accentuated sarcasm. 'What a surprise! I didn't expect to see my worst customer tonight. What brings you-'

'Nick,' Hancock interrupts from his seat. He gently pushes the girls aside as he gets up. They pout, but Hancock ignores them completely. The smile he offers Nick is much more honest than before. It's good to be on the receiving end of it. Nick can't quite get used to the thought of someone being genuinely happy to see him, but he enjoys the signs of it whenever he can. It's been a long time.

'Sawyer said ya weren't arriving before morning. What gives?'

'I missed Goodneighbor's hospitality too much to wait any longer,' Nick replies, deadpan.

The mayor laughs. 'Didn't you get stabbed in the eye last time you were here?' He asks, then shakes his head. 'Damn, but it's good to see you,' he adds. 'Come, we should talk somewhere private. Unless you're eager to drown your circuits in terrible alcohol?'

'Regrettably, this time I'll have to pass on the rust-removal treatment,' says Nick. He nods a farewell to Whitechapel Charlie who gives him the most rude look someone with no face could manage, then follows Hancock to the Old State House. The halls are eerily empty at this time of night. Lights are out and Hancock doesn't bother to turn them on. He trips over a stair once, but quickly catches his balance and casts a quick glance behind his shoulder, possibly to check if Nick noticed. Nick doesn't laugh at him. Not out loud. The mayor still hears the snort of amusement and indignantly tells him to fuck off. He does switch on the light when they reach his office, though.

The office itself is much more of a mess than Nick remembers from the last time he came here over two years ago, which is an accomplishment of a kind. Hancock was never a particularly order-oriented individual, even as a young man back in Diamond City. He used to leave clothing everywhere and get randomly hit with inspiration on new furniture arrangements. He did that a lot at Nick's place throughout the years when he lived there. This, however, is a new level of chaos even the Valentine's Detective Agency has never seen before. Trash is literally littering the room. It's difficult to move without stepping on something breakable. Nuka-Cola bottles are scattered everywhere, most of them empty and some shattered. Empty Jet inhalers are abandoned in a pile under the wall. There is a new hole in the same wall, it looks punched-in. All file cabinets in the room are toppled. There are also papers lying about, files or reports of some sort. In the middle of the office stands Hancock's desk, oddly undisturbed in all the chaos. On top of it, a copy of Publick Occurrences is open on an article about missing people – one of Piper's more aggressive ones of late. There's a ton of dirty plates, cups and discarded carton boxes. At least no food leftovers can be seen, although Nick can't tell if there isn't some buried under other garbage.

'Sit anywhere you like,' Hancock offers, shrugging as he sits on top of his desk after picking up the newspaper. He looks at it and crumples it into a ball, then chucks it in the direction of the broken window. He misses. 'Or don't,' he adds when Nick doesn't bother looking for a seat in the mess.

'Out with it,' the detective demands.

'Yeah, I know, I'll get straight to the point,' Hancock says, then sighs. 'Fahrenheit is missing. You're the go-to man or uh, go-to-robot or whatever, for missing persons, yes? I want you to find her.'

'That's pretty straight-forward,' Nick admits and thinks about Fahrenheit: average-looking, ginger, scarred across the face and a terror at card games. Killer cheekbones. Sweet voice that doesn't go with the attitude. Deadly with weapons. Likely to attack before asking questions. Also, chief of security around these parts. Doesn't seem to fit the profile of Nick's usual jobs at all.

'I'll need more details, though. When did she go missing?' He asks.

'Three days ago,' replies Hancock. 'We had a drink in the evening, I think it was around eleven when we went our separate ways, hard to say for sure because of the blackout – yeah, we had a brief blackout all of three or four hours that night. Radstorm's gone and fucked the power lines. Yeah. So we parted and then I partook in some chemical pleasures with a few friends down in the Third Rail, Fahrenheit was supposed to go home and, uh, do whatever she does in her spare time. Probably push-ups. So. That was the last anyone's seen of her.'

Nick nods. He puts the information down in one of his handy notebooks. He uses a pencil. He hates pencils, they smudge and he can't read the notes later. Of course, it's not like he has need of the notes, everything gets written in his local memory drive anyway. It's more for Ellie's sake that he even writes anything down and Ellie's never complained about the pencil notes. Still. He really wants his pen back. It was a gift, after all. It's important.

'Did she say anything unusual before she went missing? She mention any plans for relocation? A new relationship, maybe?' He asks, although he cannot quite reconcile the image of Fahrenheit in his mind with the idea of elopement.

Hancock shakes his head. 'Nothing like that. She called me an old bore and said something preposterous about being a far better mayor prospect than me. Ha! As if she could pull off politics,' he chuckles. 'She may be my blood, but she sure hasn't got any of my charm.'

That's new. 'You're related?' Nick inquires. How come he knows nothing of this?

'Hell, I forgot, ya never heard,' Hancock says, then sighs. 'Yeah. She's my daughter. I don't go around advertising it or anything, ya know? We're not exactly a model parent-child pair. She doesn't know. Hell, I found out like, two, three years ago? I wanted to tell her she was mine, but after I became a ghoul, I didn't have the balls to do it. She's better off not knowing she might probably be a damn McDonough, though she sure looks like one. Never been lucky, that family.'

Nick nods. 'John,' he says, 'your secret's safe with me.'

Hancock sighs. 'Yeah, I suppose. You've kept my secrets well enough 'till now. I'd be more worried about those notes of yours, anyone could try 'n steal them. But frankly, I'm not sure there's enough folks around who know how to read for that to matter. That's why I wrote you that message, you feel me?' He shrugs. 'But, yeah. Like I said. Fahrenheit didn't say shit about leaving. Actually, she had reason to stay. Bobbi No-Nose's been planning a move against me for months now. Sure, Fahrenheit's a friend, but more importantly she's my security detail. My safety always goes first. She'd tell you that herself.'

Nick questions a great many things in Goodneighbor, but Fahrenheit's loyalty to Hancock is not one of them. He still remembers the ass-kicking she gave him two years ago for what she believed was Hancock's sake. The tear in skin mesh on the right side of his face is testament to how fiercely she protected her boss. There's no way she'd leave if she thought Hancock was in danger. Nick doesn't like the options this certainty leaves him with, though.

'We're looking at two possibilities,' he says, frowning. 'She might be dead. Goodneighbor's a wild town. It's entirely too easy to end up a corpse in a back alley and you know it,' he insists when Hancock looks doubtful.

'Yeah, thing is, that girl's tougher than anyone and anything else around here,' the mayor explains. 'Nobody local could catch her off her guard and you bet your flat plastic ass I'd know it if a fucking epic-like tough fellow came around my neighborhood.'

Nick doesn't doubt it. He also doesn't acknowledge the insult to his ass in any way.

'So what's your second possibility?' Hancock asks. He sounds weary, like he already knows what Nick's going to say before he says it.

'Abduction,' Nick says, somewhat apologetically. The complete lack of reaction from the mayor confirms that he expected the option to come up.

'I thought as much,' Hancock admits. 'The way that lovely lady reporter's been going on and on about the disappearances in Diamond City lately, I suppose you've had tons of people coming to you for help finding missing relatives.'

'Not tons,' says Nick, 'but enough. Some turned out to have been false alarms. Cheating husbands, runaway wives, rebel teen kids off to Goodneighbor,' he adds, nodding to Hancock. 'A few never turned up again, though. I assume, since you contacted me, there hasn't been any form of ransom demand, has there? No, of course not, you'd have dealt with that on your own. Now, I don't like this, but there is reason to believe the Institute may be involved.'

'What purpose would it serve them, though?' Hancock asks. 'What would they need Fahrenheit for?'

That's a good question. Nick ponders it in silence for a moment. He observes the mayor with the corner of his eye; he doesn't think he's ever seen Hancock pacing before. Flailing, yes, panicking, but never so helplessly frustrated. He can't be judgmental about it. He doesn't have children of his own, of course, and thankfully he never will have any offspring to disappoint. He just knows he'd be very distressed indeed if Ellie went missing suddenly.

Damn. Fahrenheit is on Ellie's _say hi_ list. Underlined twice. With a flower scribbled around the dot above the “i”.

'Fahrenheit is an extraordinary mercenary. I hear the Institute's always on a lookout,' Nick chances, just because the possibility exists and seems more hopeful than the alternatives. It's improbable, though. There are enough morally corrupt mercenaries out there in the Commonwealth wastelands and beyond them that there's simply no need for the Institute to resort to kidnapping if they want someone to do a job for them.

Hancock snorts in disbelief. 'You really trying to sell me on a shitty theory like that? C'mon, Nicky, I'm no delicate flower, I can handle anything you've got. Hit me.'

The detective sighs. 'I can't be sure, but the Institute may be taking people in order to replicate their brains. Much like they did with the real Nick... I mean, the guy from before the war whose personality I inherited.'

'I suppose you don't know if it's... ya know, survive-able?' The mayor asks with little hope.

'Oh, it was a perfectly safe procedure for the original Nick Valentine,' Nick assures him. 'At least, it seems that way from the memories I have of it. I'm a little fuzzy on the details, and of course I cannot say for sure what happened to him afterwards. It wasn't a terribly complicated ordeal, though. It seemed like that kind of brain scan was routine.'

'So she might be alive,' Hancock concludes.

'Yes, unless...' Nick trails off. Then, under the mayor's disapproving stare, he continues: 'Unless they intend to replace her with a synth. We don't know that they do that!' He lifts his arms in a defensive manner. 'It's purely theoretical. Everyone speculates, but there's no proof. Just, you know. They can make the synth resemble humans to the letter, we've seen some of these third generation synth and they're basically same as humans in every way. This replacement theory, it's... Well, it's a possibility. I mean, I have no more knowledge on the Institute's plans than you do. But it seems a reasonable tactic, to replace influential or well-liked people from major settlements with synth copies.'

'Like they allegedly did with my dear brother?' Hancock asks incredulously. If he still had eyebrows, he would be rising one or both in a very mocking fashion, like he used to back when he did have them.

'Like I said, it's purely theoretical at this point,' Nick admits easily. He'd rather not devote too much thought to the villainy of the Institute if he can help it. 'Whatever may be the case, if Fahrenheit was indeed taken by the Institute, it would be best if I act swiftly.'

'So you will take the job?' Hancock asks. 'Good. I was starting to worry.'

'I could not say no to a friend,' Nick assures him.

He's relieved when the only answer is a grateful nod acknowledging his claim of friendship instead of a semi-expected challenge to his honesty. Sometimes, he thinks he holds more of a grudge against himself for staying in Diamond City after the ghouls were evicted than Hancock does. Sometimes, he thinks maybe he's the one who hasn't forgiven, not Hancock. After that fiasco two years ago, he just doesn't know what to believe anymore. The truth is, for all the emotions synths are supposed to not have, all the attachments they're not supposed to make... he misses John's company terribly. Theirs was the most meaningful friendship Nick has managed to forge since he woke up on a trash heap in this post-apocalyptic world. It's depressing, after all this time, to see it reduced to but a mere acquaintance. It's never going to be just that for Nick.

He's mourning the loss of a damn fountain pen John gifted him twenty years ago, for goodness' sake.

They discuss the people who have come and gone from the town in recent days. Nick's impressed with how Hancock really knows everything about the happenings in his corner of the world, including the tidings in the nearby settlements and the state of unrest in the neighboring Gunner camp. According to his knowledge, nothing suspicious happened in the last few days save for an unfamiliar merchant caravan which arrived unexpectedly some four days ago – quite unusual for new faces to come a-knocking at this time of the year. The merchant claimed he ran a frontier kinda outfit and offered great deals even Daisy didn't begrudge. He stayed in town for a couple of days, stationed near the main entrance, right in the view of _Kill or Be Killed_. Hancock can't tell for sure when he left Goodneighbor.

'Guy had a weird name,' Hancock recalls. 'See-Kay? Tall, bald and not interested. Completely crazy if you ask me.'

'… “crazy” and “not interested in you” don't mean the same thing,' Nick informs him plainly.

Hancock actually grins at that. 'Keep telling yourself that,' he jokes. 'Let's be real, I'm the handsomest devil this side of the wasteland. Whoever says no to all this,' he gestures at himself, winking, 'is clearly delusional.'

'You're delusional,' Nick says. He's not sure whether it came out exasperated or annoyed and he can't figure out why it would be either. Sometimes, his own reactions to Hancock's jokes confuse him. These times remind him quite painfully that he's not anywhere close to being human.

A stray thought at the back of his mind, an association of sorts, makes him abandon the unhappy musings and return to the topic at hand. 'Tall, bald, you say? See-Kay... Could those have been initials, by any chance?'

'Sure,' Hancock admits dismissively. 'Didn't ask him for credentials or anything, now did I? Guy said his name was See-Kay, so it was. Anyone's welcome in Goodneighbor right until they aren't.'

'That attitude is exactly why you need a bodyguard,' Nick grumbles. 'I wonder. That description fits a certain individual I've had the displeasure of meeting... someone I have reasons to suspect works for the Institute. Conrad Kellogg.'

He can tell from just the look on his face that Hancock's never heard of the man in his life. The range of emotion ghouls can exhibit is amazing, taking into account their limited variety of facial expression. Or it's just Hancock who's so easy for him to read, given their long history of acquaintance. It's surprisingly easy to interpret someone's tiniest gestures after seeing them every day for years and inadvertently cataloging them. Nick isn't sure how exactly his memory works, but he knows one thing: there must be a giant file entitled “John” somewhere inside his brain, with over two decades worth of non-essential data he wouldn't want to lose regardless of its usability.

'Kellogg's a mercenary,' Nick explains. 'He has a reputation for ruthlessness. He's also the only one I can think of with enough skill to take Fahrenheit by surprise. And I know that he's in the area He used to live in Diamond City, he left recently. But it's strange. He was reported to be going west...'

'Might've been someone else, then. I bet there's lots of tall bald men around the Commonwealth. Not too many who'd say no to me,' Hancock jokes, grinning when Nick rolls his eyes, 'but, yeah. Bald's the top of fashion. Practical for wasteland treks. Classy, too, what can be classier than the old _no-hair to bother with_ kind of look? Though I do miss my luscious blond locks, if there's one thing I regret about being zombie king, it's that hair doesn't really go with the style. I'm so tired I'm babbling, ain't I?' He asks in a tone of vaguely amused resignation.

'You are,' Nick confirms.

'I haven't slept since she went missing. We're not... you know, model family or anything. I mean, yeah, like I said, she don't even know. But she's my kid, and more than that, she's my friend,' the mayor says and sighs.

'Try and get some rest,' Nick advises gently. 'I'll have a look around, ask some questions. No, you don't need to accompany me, I can take care of myself,' he says firmly before Hancock can open his mouth to protest. 'I'll meet you here at eleven hundred hours. We'll discuss how to proceed then.'

He doesn't give the mayor a chance to disagree, just leaves, ignoring the cutting remark about _eye safety_ Hancock spits at his retreating back. Sometimes, Hancock's just into behaving like the brat Nick remembers him as from back when they first met: stubborn and unreasonable, loud, brash and oddly charming. What worked for a twelve year old child shouldn't really make sense when an adult – a ghoul! - does it, but with Hancock, everything is always irregular. Sometimes, Nick wonders if that's because he was there when John was born thirty seven years ago. If the significance of the moment he held a screaming infant in his arms somehow melted his wiring and caused an aberration in how his circuits were supposed to process the world.

It's a deliberation for another time.

Nick talks to Daisy first and then to KL-E-0 about the traveling merchant, but they really can't tell him much. The man was apparently very polite, but not especially friendly. Daisy saw him talking to Fahrenheit once, not long after the caravan arrived. It was nothing but a professional conversation, from the looks of it. Like every other inhabitant of the town, Fahrenheit expressed interest in the merchant's wares, then bought a few boxes of ammo and went about her day.

KL-E-0 shows Nick the gun she purchased from the merchant, a near-perfect condition shotgun with an expertly installed high precision mod and an advanced cushioned grip.

'Only thirty caps, Mister Valentine,' she says incredulously. 'He could easily have asked five times that and it still would have been a steal. Traders aren't that stupid. They're greedy.'

Nick thanks her for the insight, kindly rejects her flirtatious invitation to a date which is a bit of a traditional joke between them, and walks away, deep in thought. She's right, of course. Guns with mods as well crafted as these are rare and therefore worth a lot. Even the most green merchant would know that. It's so obviously a ruse, Nick is starting to wonder if he isn't mistaken after all. He can hardly imagine a seasoned mercenary going for a disguise which sucks so much. Unless he had an ulterior motive – but what could it be? To confuse whoever might try to investigate? In that case, he'd be successful. On the other hand, why go to such lengths? After all, the man couldn't have predicted Hancock would actually go to Nick Valentine's for help, so putting on a show of this caliber was entirely redundant: it only serves to attempt to throw Nick off of Kellogg's trail if it's based on the assumption that Nick would associate the merchant with Kellogg and then dismiss the association based on the poorness of the disguise. So much effort and going in circles to go to just to kidnap a young woman who has little meaning in the grand scheme of things. She's only the mayor's bodyguard. Wouldn't it have made more sense to replace Hancock, instead?

_What makes me so sure he wasn't replaced?_ Nick asks himself. The thought is unpleasant at best, but he doesn't abandon it. He analyzes it, instead.

Fact: Hancock is the most well-liked mayor in any settlement Nick's seen. He's one of the people, like he likes to claim, but mostly he's all for the people. It's easy to both respect and admire him for the way he manages to control the anarchy of his town. His people idolize him and those who don't wouldn't dream of disobeying him anyway. All of it makes him a logical target. Another fact: Synths in the third generation are virtually indistinguishable from humans and, potentially, could be made as ghouls. Hypothesis: the Institute replaces people with synths. Nick's yet to see confirmation of this, but it's strangely plausible and, yeah, he kinda sees it. It is therefore not a far-fetched conclusion to draw that they would start with those they deem influential: Mayor McDonough would be a good first choice, just the way Piper Wright seems convinced. Mayor Hancock would be another. And according to what everyone believes – to what Nick, himself, believes as well – it would be impossible to tell the difference. The Institute could replicate physical appearance and behavior down to the smallest quirks. It wouldn't matter how long Nick has known Hancock for. He wouldn't be any the wiser, no matter how much he dislikes the reality of it.

Thing is, he doesn't think he has to worry about it. If they replaced Hancock for a synth, if they really do replace people, Nick wouldn't even be here. Fake-Hancock certainly wouldn't have asked for his help, not in something involving the Institute. Probably wouldn't have decided to survive on pills, shots and no sleep before Nick actually arrived.

So he likely wasn't replaced. It doesn't answer why Fahrenheit would be, though.

And that's the gist of the problem. Nick talks to several members of the Neighborhood Watch who don't seem to know anything useful about the merchant and aren't even aware of Fahrenheit's disappearance. It's a good thing Hancock apparently decided to keep this business under wraps. Used to mental multitasking, Nick attempts to pick at the situation from different angles. What is to be gained by removing Fahrenheit from the picture? And, following that, who stands to gain from it, anyway, assuming it be someone besides the Institute?

The answer to the second question is: anyone who has a bone to pick with Hancock.

There are a few scenarios which could apply. An old enemy might have picked up on their blood relation and decided to abduct Fahrenheit to distress Hancock – but no. There would've been some sort of contact. Someone would own up to the deed, raise demands. More likely, Fahrenheit was taken out to make it easier to target the mayor. He's not helpless in a scuttle, he's a chem-abusing madman with a knife, but he's grown more careless here. With nobody to watch his back, it's only a matter of time before some opportunist puts a bullet in his skull – and then it's goodnight, Goodneighbor. Yet another reason Hancock's keeping the whole disappearing act a secret.

Come morning, Nick has maybe one new lead: a drifter by the name of Katja claimed she heard what sounded like a brawl in one of the back alleys late at night a few days ago, but she wasn't sure if it was the same night Hancock says Fahrenheit went missing or not. Still, it's worth checking, so Nick drops by the alley behind Redford the woman pointed him to. It's deserted, thankfully. It would be a bother to get into a fight in the narrow space, not to mention it could contaminate the scene if it is indeed one... It might be. Nick finds a handful of shells on the ground which are less corroded than others. They appear to match 5mm round ammo, which isn't typically seen in the non-automated weapons. Judging from their placement, Nick surmises the shooter stood with their back to the wall, facing the entrance to the alley. The bullets must have hit something, somewhere, but there's no blood on the pavement. Difficult to evaluate the trajectory of the shots with no splatters and no clear idea on the type of the gun used, but Nick has the advantage of experience granted him by the brain of one old Boston cop. Within a few moments, he finds one of the bullets lodged in the brick wall at the mouth of the alley. It's a bit below his line of vision, which indicates the shot was aimed at the potential assailant's head by a shorter shooter. The brick around the hole is blackened, as if burnt. Maybe incendiary ammo or a mod in the gun itself? It would explain no blood splatters, if any of the bullets hit home – wounds would get instantly cauterized. Must be painful. He examines the shells again. They look standard if a bit charred, so a modded gun is more likely. Nick makes a mental note to ask Hancock about the weapons Fahrenheit carried.

He exits the back alley and checks the time. Seven-oh-eight. He's got a lot of time before the self-set appointment with the mayor. He decides to devote the time to go through Ellie's list of friends, wondering if maybe they could shed a new light on the investigation. He isn't sure how the social circles interact in Goodneighbor, but he figures, since Fahrenheit is on the list, she may be a common acquaintance. The place isn't that big after all.

Turns out, people don't know much about Fahrenheit. Nick makes a point to ask in the most off-hand way, bringing her up as Ellie's other friend, but it yields no results other than the confirmation of what he already knows: that she's a damn good chief of security around here. One of Ellie's sisters, Betty, the youngest of the family if Nick recalls correctly, mentions some gossip about Fahrenheit having a sweetheart in Diamond City. Nick dismisses it rather quickly since even Betty herself thinks it's a crap theory. Nobody knows anything. Nobody's seen anything suspicious happening in the town at all, ever, nah-uh. All is fine on the eastern front.

'Do you think if someone got themselves stabbed to death in front of these good people of yours, somebody'd tell me?' He asks Hancock later when he meets the mayor back in the office.

He takes note of Hancock's heightened mood and more relaxed posture. He doesn't ask if it's thanks to rest or if it's connected to the empty box of Mentats sitting on the desk. It's not his place to openly disapprove anymore. He is free to judge in the privacy of his mind, though, so he does. Pettiness, like many of the human vices still left in him, is damn right satisfying sometimes.

Hancock laughs, pondering the question. 'Oh, boy. Now, it sure depends. For example, if I was the stabber, I'm sure they wouldn't mind telling you all about it. Damn, they'd be proud! They like how their mayor is a no-nonsense kinda guy, you see,' he pauses, takes a moment to think about it. 'On the other hand, if the one doing the stabbing had reason to fear punishment... Like, you know. For breaking the law. Well. In that case, it would solely depend on who got stabbed.'

'Goodness. This is pure anarchy,' Nick groans.

'Yup,' Hancock agrees proudly, his black eyes shining in mirth. 'What did ya expect? I became mayor by hanging my predecessor from the railing and everybody's fine with that. Figures we're not too high on morals around here.'

'You're high alright,' grumbles Nick, but he can't really argue with where Hancock's coming from. While the distrustful attitude the citizens show towards him is frustrating, especially in the middle of the investigation, he's an outsider. And he can agree that Goodneighbor only functions as well as it does because of its few hard-set laws. The town as it is now runs on controlled chaos, held together by carefully selected pretty words and the admiration the citizens all have for Hancock. It's completely different from what he's used to, yes, but he is just a guest here. He has to play by the rules of the game, even if he doesn't like them.

Defeated on this ground, Nick turns to a subject he actually has an advantage in. He relays his discovery in the back alley behind the hotel. He shows Hancock one of the shells he collected. The mayor frowns unhappily at that.

'Ashmaker,' he says. 'Her gun. Modded, like you said. She's got talent with all that. If something can be made more efficient at killing, she'll find a way. That's why KL-E-0 likes her.'

'Any reason she might've had to shoot someone there?' Nick asks.

Hancock bites down on what remains of his lower lip in concentration, shakes his head. 'Can't think of one. Well, other than somebody attacked her. And, you know. Ashmaker, it's kinda a big deal weapon. Not that easy to find ammo for them in these parts, everyone with a minigun would fight you for it. She wouldn't, like, waste 'em on a mole rat, ya know?'

'We can probably assume she fought Kellogg and he abducted her from that alley, then,' Nick concludes. 'Is there any way to leave the town undetected from there?'

Hancock nods, looking shifty, like he's embarrassed. 'There's a badly done repair job on the wall behind the hotel. Push it at a certain spot and it just kind of moves like a secret doorway thingy. We had an attack last winter, some Super Mutants broke through. We stopped them easy because that's a fucking terrible place to raid Goodneighbor from and all, but thing is, guy who fixed the wall did a bad job on it. It's been on the agenda,' the mayor assures hurriedly, as if worried Nick may judge him, 'just, we haven't got around to it yet.'

Nick doesn't mention a gaping hole in the Green Wall blockaded with a less-than-sturdy bookshelf which Piper Wright showed him soon after she first arrived in Diamond City. It got fixed after a few months and only because Piper's first more aggressive writing adventure was a lovely article drawing attention to the abysmal state of the city's defenses. That's how the newly founded _Publick Occurrences_ became enemy number one to Mayor McDonough. In comparison, the concealed damage to Goodneighbor's outer wall is not that big a deal... of course, that's only until it becomes known to an enemy.

So, there it is: a promising lead. The whole investigation's going quite well for a missing person's case. He's got a potential suspect, a crime scene and a possible motive. He knows where to look next. As far as Institute-related disappearances go, this one might not be a lost cause.

'I'll get some supplies and I'm good to go,' Nick announces. 'Best not wait too long, after all it's already been three days. Someone's gotta radio Ellie and let her know I might take more than the few days I said it would be.'

'I'll have Sawyer deliver the message personally. I don't trust radio transmissions to Diamond City these days,' Hancock replies. 'What do we need?' He asks, opening one of the desk drawers and pulling out a carton box labeled “Cocoa Bombs (TM), like Sugar Bombs but better”. The noise it makes when moved indicates it's filled with bottle caps.

'”We”?' Nick inquires.

'Yeah well, I'm goin' with you. Like the good ol' times,' Hancock says unreasonably, sounding like he thinks it's obvious. 'It'll do me good to breathe some wasteland air once in a while and, damn, I wanna carve a few holes in the bastards who took Fahrenheit.'

Nick hesitates a brief moment, then: 'If you're certain. It probably won't be much more dangerous than staying here,' he decides.

He isn't really convinced it's a good idea, but to be honest, he knows he will need the backup if it's really Kellogg they're up against, and indeed the Institute. Nick works well alone, but every once in a while, he can't say he minds working with someone. Hancock's always been a damn bad shot, even worse now with the radiation damage which makes him half-blind in daylight, but he's cheerful, decent company, and motivated. And his skills with a knife are the stuff of many a legend between awe-struck teenagers. Nick knows the man's not detective material, he remembers as much from the numerous attempts he made at including the curious friendly neighborhood kid Hancock used to be in his work. He was too damn lively and could never really focus on the task at hand. He liked to draw the most outlandish conclusions from the gathered evidence, too. Terrible detective. Well, he's not a kid anymore.

He's also marginally less a sitting duck out there than he'd be if left alone in the town. He's likely to become sharper when he expects the danger.

'Now, what we need... Maybe more Stimpaks, ammo, some food for you,' Nick lists and frowns. 'Your chems of choice,' he adds disdainfully.

'Those, I never part from,' Hancock assures, grinning in that infuriatingly cocky manner that so easily draws people into his orbit. 'Oh come on, don't be like that! You have your poison and I have mine,' he stabs the breast pocket of Nick's coat with his finger, poking his chest. The pack of cigarettes, which neither of them needs to point out have absolutely no effect on Nick's synth physiology, is actually in the pocket on the other side. The pressure of Hancock's bony finger to Nick's chest isn't painful, just warm from the ghoul's heightened body heat.

'I don't know how I put up with you,' Nick informs the mayor dryly.

'Why, Nicky, that'd be because I am so charming!' Hancock says in a sweet tone. He winks at Nick and then moves past him to the door. 'Ya comin', detective?' He asks, smirking in a way Nick can still recognize as his most seductive smile from back in the day. The guy's so much trouble. Always has been.

Good thing Nick knows how to handle trouble.

 

 


	2. Something wicked this way comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some answers are found, even more questions arise. Nick realizes things. Ellie kind of gets a promotion.

They leave Goodneighbor a bit over an hour later because after the brief supply run, Hancock decides he has to announce his departure to the citizens. The speech is relatively short. The people take it well enough when their mayor assures them he's only going out for a little bit, they won't even notice he's gone, yeah he'll definitely bring souvenirs. Nick wonders what the reactions would be in Diamond City if mayor McDonough suddenly informed everyone he was going to take a few days off to have a stroll across the wastelands. He snickers at the thought, hiding his amusement behind a faked cough. Oh, the outrage! Everyone would suddenly believe Piper's theory the old mayor got replaced by a synth when they weren't looking. Funny, how completely different these two brothers are.

Even funnier that out of the two, Nick only likes the one considered immoral.

They leave through the town gate as not to arouse any suspicion of the townsfolk who watch them go, then circle the outer walls to examine the breach behind the Redford hotel. It's not so easy to find from this side; the wall belongs to an abandoned, derelict warehouse and it's so dark inside even Nick's superior night vision isn't enough. Thankfully, Hancock had the foresight to bring a blowtorch he grabbed at the last possible moment from the State House. Still, if not for the fact that some bricks are loose on the edges of the breach, they might not have found it. Sure enough, once he knows where to look, Nick notices there are grooves worn into the floor from something very heavy being moved from the direction of the wall towards the center of the room or the other way around. He pushes at the wall where the marks are the deepest and, as expected, it gives. It takes considerable strength, but he supposes going past this obstacle is completely doable even for a weaker human who uses sufficient leverage or a chem to boost adrenaline.

'It stinks in here,' Hancock complains.

'I wasn't aware your sense of smell was so delicate, what with the missing nose,' Nick teases, distracted as he carefully searches the vicinity of the wall for any clues.

'Don't mock me!' The mayor exclaims in pretend outrage. 'It's the damn cigarettes raiders make from like, whatever sticks to their boots. Man, I hate 'em, they're nothing like what normal people smoke,' he explains, shrugging when his theatrics don't elicit a reaction.

Nick can sympathize, even though he can barely pick any scents anymore unless they're particularly sharp. His receptors must be damaged or just very worn. He remembers being able to smell things pretty well at the beginning. It made being around post-war humans with their lowered hygiene standards almost unbearable.

'Cigarettes, he says,' he mutters to himself, 'or maybe something else?'

There, on the floor to the far left, under the broken chair – yeah. It's a cigar, halfway-finished before it got discarded. Nick picks it up and looks closer. The brand is still clearly legible on the band: San Francisco Sunlights. These aren't often seen in the Commonwealth, but Nick recognizes the brand. Kellogg's favorites. He saw them sometimes in the ashtray at Takahashi's place whenever the mercenary ate out. Foul smell, according to the guards.

'Seems I wasn't wrong. Kellogg smokes these,' he announces.

Hancock groans. 'So we know he was here and he was probably the mysterious merchant all along. Good thing I didn't sleep with him,' he adds, grumbling.

'Yes, it would've been awkward,' Nick agrees.

He investigates the room. He finds a still active terminal and hacks it, succeeding with the lock at the first attempt. He ignores Hancock's impressed whistle as he scans the contents. There's nothing relevant there, though, just a ledger of the goods which used to be stored in this particular building a long time ago. An interesting read to a historian invested in learning the details of the regional sex toy trade, maybe, but to him – a complete waste of time.

At least Hancock is amused.

They exit the building and Nick is disheartened to conclude that he doesn't know where to go next. There's no sign of Fahrenheit and no hint as to Kellogg's destination. On the one hand, it's slightly better than finding Fahrenheit's body dumped somewhere in the warehouse would've been which, Nick realizes now, was an outcome he sub-consciously expected. On the other hand, it means the whole exercise was pointless: it's a dead end.

Hancock looks at him questioningly, but Nick shakes his head, frustrated.

'Nothing,' he snaps. 'Such a promising lead, but we're left with not a damn clue.'

The mayor frowns. 'Fuck,' he comments. 'What do we do now?'

That's what Nick would like to know, to be honest. He has a very vague idea, maybe, if that. 'I could try to sniff around Kellogg's old house in Diamond City,' he offers. 'It's possible he left something behind, something that would help me locate him.'

'Ole' Stinkin' Emerald… I hate that dump,' Hancock complains. 'Although I miss the disgusting noodles sometimes, no-one's a match for Takahashi,' he admits on second thought. He grins. 'I'm reminded of them whenever I see a mirror. Oh, the nostalgia...'

Nick looks at him. 'You don't have to go with me. You shouldn't.'

'Good thing I never listen to your advice,' Hancock teases, grinning.

Nick rolls his eyes, deciding not to dignify the words with an answer. Mainly because they're true. Hancock does what he wants, no matter the consequences – and he's very bad at heeding even the best-intentioned warnings.

Plus, it'd be real awkward if Nick made him return to Goodneighbor now, after the whole speech thing.

The trip back to Diamond City is not as uneventful as Nick would've hoped. They walk straight into an ambush by a group of raiders by the old Hubris Comics store and it's just as well that Hancock is with him because, as it turns out, the mayor of Goodneighbor is a literal demon with that knife of his. Nick barely manages to dispose of two of the raiders, landing good shots from behind a fallen dumpster, when three others drop dead from Hancock's fast melee attacks. He's incredibly accurate for a guy who has trouble seeing in daylight. There's no time to be impressed, though; the raiders aren't intimidated and renew their attack with vigor. Nick provides Hancock with cover fire as the mayor launches himself at a broad scavver wielding a machete. And damn, but Hancock's good. He easily dodges when the scavver slashes at him with the blade, then takes the opportunity to duck under his opponent's arm and stab him in the ribs. The scavver yells angry insults and tries to bring the machete down on Hancock's back, but again Hancock moves too fast for him: he evades the blow by stepping aside gracefully and then immediately leaps back into the scavver's orbit as if for a quick embrace. He stabs the raider's chest three times, rapidly, and kicks him in the stomach, then when the raider falls forward, Hancock buries the knife in the scavver's throat. He rips the serrated blade out of the raider's flesh and raises it to the others, a clearly taunting gesture. Enraged, three men run at him, a psycho and two wasters. Nick immediately takes the psycho down with a lucky headshot which shouldn't really have hit from such an angle, but he's happy it did. He sends a few bullets at one of the wasters to slow him down while Hancock finishes off the other just as efficiently as he did the scavver, laughing somewhat maniacally when blood splatters hit his face. Nick reloads the revolver and takes in the battlefield. One more raider tries to sneak out from behind a corner, a plasma rifle wielder, and he's got a good shot at Hancock but Nick is faster. All six bullets he unloads hit the target. The raider falls and doesn't get back up.

Hancock actually loots the bodies for caps and probably chems. Waste not, he would say if Nick asked. Nick doesn't ask. He accepts a box of ammo thrown his way – okay, he doesn't think stealing from the dead is particularly decent, but he supposes they don't care anyway and leaving good ammunition like that would be unreasonable. If not them, somebody else would take it.

'Want to drop by the comic store?' Hancock asks and grins as he cocks his head to point to the building. He looks relaxed, but alert. His eyes give off an unholy glow. Different from the effects of drugs. The adrenaline of the battle must still be coursing around his body, or maybe it's the radiation mixed with some chemicals in his veins is causing this uncanny effect.

Nick almost can't look away. The blood splattered across Hancock's cheekbone, smudged from how he tried to wipe it with the back of his hand, draws his gaze like a magnet.

'Another time, maybe,' he says, forcing himself to look anywhere but at Hancock's face. He shakes his head. What a curious phenomenon, to become so hyper-focused on someone, and for no apparent reason. 'We really shouldn't stall here. More may come.'

'We'll just deal with them as well,' Hancock says confidently, but he doesn't protest and follows when Nick resumes the trek down the street.

He doesn't stay quiet long, though. It's just not in his nature to keep his thoughts to himself for too long. 'I should wear some disguise, shouldn't I? To get inside the city with you,' he says thoughtfully. 'Was thinking though, maybe I could wait by the gate. Not the best idea to go where I'm not too welcome. The last time didn't end all that well for ghouls in your precious city.'

'I wouldn't let them harm you. If I had to, I'd fight to protect you,' Nick promises immediately, before he even thinks about it. Then he does, he thinks it through, and arrives swiftly to the conclusion that the words are true. The small epiphany is accompanied by a wave of unfamiliar warmth rolling around his circuitry. He can't tell where it originates from. Curiouser and curiouser.

'Awwww, Nicky!' Hancock coos. 'That's so sweet. You sure know how to make a guy feel special!'

'Shut up,' Nick mutters, feeling strangely embarrassed.

Hancock snickers at his expression and continues to be amused for the remainder of the trip. He's carefully hiding the nervousness and insecurity he's experiencing behind a wall of good humor. It shows, though, in the way he attempts to fill every moment of silence with words. Meaningless, trivial anecdotes, jokes repeated for the hundredth time, hell, he even attempts to sell Nick an old fairytale as a true story. He might've succeeded, were Nick not the one who told him that fairytale in the first place, many years ago.

In the end, despite Nick's promise, Hancock decides to wait outside the city walls. He finds himself a spot in an old drug store's second floor, where he claims he will be completely safe from bigots and raiders alike. Nick supposes he's right, the place hasn't seen any looters for decades because it's empty, but he doesn't have to like it. He might be paranoid, or it's just the old habit of always looking out for Hancock kicking in. Still, the plan makes sense, and if anything unexpected happens, well. He's seen how well Hancock can stand his ground in a fight.

The security guard posted at the gate today, Rick Coleman, greets him with a cheerful grin.

'Good to see you back so soon, Nick!'

Nick nods and smiles, acknowledging the sentiment, but he worries the smile might look as fake as he feels it is. Which is entirely ironic because as a synth, he can only offer fake smiles anyway. But he is torn. He cares about the people of this city who accepted him despite his nature and eventually made him one of their own. He's grateful to them and he wants to continue to help them to return the debt. On the other hand, though, these are the people who allowed, no, who voted for innocents to be thrown to the wolves or else killed only because they looked different. Ghouls were just as much part of this community as humans were, once.

_How easy it is to control a population by introducing the concept of “otherness”_ , he muses bitterly. _How easy to manipulate them by teaching fear of anything that is different._

'Hey, Nick. If you don't mind me asking... does Miss Perkins have a boyfriend?' Coleman inquires, not looking directly at Nick. His cheeks darken visibly.

'Not to my knowledge,' Nick says truthfully. 'Why?'

'Ah, you know. This guy's come around, tall guy, no gun, just a sword thingy. Said he was just visiting Miss Perkins. A man's gotta wonder...' the guard trails off.

Nick assures him that the best way to gauge Ellie's interest is to ask her directly, although he doesn't really believe in Coleman's chances. It's not that the guard's a bad guy or not good-looking; he's just not smart enough to match Ellie's fast-paced mind. But who knows. Maybe Nick's missing something. He's not a relationship expert after all.

He drops by the agency to make sure nothing is amiss. Just like he expected, Ellie is working in the company of Edwin Sawyer: tall, no gun and armed with a machete. When Nick enters, Ellie greets him with a long-suffering sigh.

'Please, please tell me you've solved whatever case needed solving and we can send this complete tool back to Goodneighbor,' she begs in exaggerated distress.

Sawyer, who looks surprised to see Nick back so soon, turns back to her with an air of offended innocence. 'You're being mean, Ellie, this is not lady-like at all!' He complains.

Ellie grimaces. 'I don't care, you big old toad. You couldn't tell a lady from a lamp post anyway. Now zip it, I'm done talking to you!'

'She's become so rude under your care, Mr. Valentine,' Sawyer says regretfully, shaking his head in defeat.

Ellie rolls her eyes and proceeds to ignore the ghoul like he doesn't exist. 'So, seriously now. Were you able to help Mayor Hancock?' She asks Nick.

'Not yet,' the detective replies and sighs heavily. 'I haven't been able to reach one of your friends. The one with the flower,' he adds, deciding not to speak directly because he's not sure Sawyer is aware of Fahrenheit's disappearance.

At the information, Ellie visibly tenses. She seems a bit confused as she asks, 'Why, what happened? Did she go somewhere?...'

'That's what I was hired to find out,' Nick says, trying to sound reassuring.

Ellie turns to Sawyer and looks up at him dangerously. 'You knew, didn't you. That she's missing.'

'El,' Sawyer begins and catches Ellie's wrist when she ineffectually tries to punch him. 'Hey, hey, that's not how this plays out!' He snaps. 'I was sworn to secrecy by Mayor Hancock, I can't just go running my mouth to anyone-'

'So I'm _anyone_ now? Don't forget I can still kick your butt to pudding, old man!' Ellie threatens.

'Why don't you try it, pipsqueak, and we'll see who's gonna get flattened, huh? You're not a little girl anymore, I won't be holding back!' Sawyer replies, just as agitated.

Nick manages to snap out of just standing there watching in morbid fascination as the two get closer to what is sure going to turn into an all-out brawl. He quickly steps in between them. 'Nobody's flattening anyone,' he says authoritatively and notes that the two seem to deflate. Good. He's not sure the small office would survive any actual fighting.

'Now, since both of you are nice and quiet now, let me ask you something. What the hell was this?' He demands sternly.

Ellie looks away. 'I'm sorry, Nick,' she mutters, clearly ashamed.

'I apologize as well,' Sawyer adds, shaking his head. 'And to you, Ellie,' he says, nodding to her. 'I'm older, I shouldn't be losing it like this.'

'You're worried about her too,' Ellie says and sighs. She looks at Nick and asks, 'Can we help? In finding her, I mean.'

Nick only thinks about it for a moment before he concludes, 'You can help. Sawyer needs to stay put though.'

The ghoul rolls his eyes impatiently, but takes a seat behind the desk Ellie usually uses and reaches for a pencil.

Nick explains the plan about getting to Kellogg's house. Ellie smiles. 'You want me to talk to Mayor McDonough for you, about the keys,' she guesses.

'I'd appreciate it,' Nick admits. 'If it doesn't work, try with Geneva. Here,' he passes Ellie a tube of caps. 'She might need some incentive to help us out. Meanwhile, I'll go and see if I can get in another way. Just in case your appointment with the mayor doesn't work out,' he adds smugly under Ellie's stare, so very suspicious – yet rather amused.

She laughs, of course. 'Mayor Hancock is a bad influence over you, isn't he?' She teases.

Nick just shrugs, not in the least bothered by the joking accusation. He is more troubled by the fact that he feels warmth on his face which he knows means he would be blushing if his skin had the capability for it.

They leave Sawyer in the agency after the ghoul promises not to break anything important. It's a bit hard to believe him because he's in the process of taking apart a pen right when he says it, but Nick's got bigger problems now.

Once they are outside, Ellie asks, 'Is the mayor with you?'

'He insisted on waiting outside,' Nick replies truthfully.

Ellie nods. 'Reasonable. You'll keep him safe until you two find Fahr, yes?' She demands.

'You do realize he can take care of himself, don't you?' Nick says, chuckling. But Ellie's not amused, more like... resolved, and so Nick finds himself adding: 'I'll keep him safe.'

Now, Ellie's the second person besides Hancock himself that he assures of this in a very short time frame. Maybe he should seek to expand the services rendered in the contract for this job... if he were planning to even make it a contract. Because it's not that, it's not even a favor to an old friend. It's far more than that. This is his way of making things right between them again, an atonement of sorts for... many things. For letting things happen which never should've happened. For abandoning Hancock because he was too much of a coward to do the right by him – twice.

He's not going to let there be a third time.

Ellie seems satisfied with the answer. 'Fahr will be pissed if anything happens to him, Nick,' she warns semi-seriously. 'And, well. I really am sorry for what you witnessed back there. Edwin and I, we... go way back, you know. I grew up around him,' she explains. 'We ran with the same street crew, Fahr and me, and Edwin was our leader. He kept us out of Vic's sights and was kind of... a big brother to us kids. Nobody else really cared about us in old Goodneighbor before Mayor Hancock turned up,' she shakes her head. 'Anyway, back then, we used to just... shout at each other until the bad feelings were exhausted. I guess some of that followed me all these years I spent here...'

Nick smiles. 'Don't worry about it, doll,' he says and squeezes her shoulder in reassurance. 'Just please don't make throwing yourself bodily at men twice your height a habit. You'll make this old synth short-circuit with all the stress.'

The joke does it: Ellie relaxes and giggles. It's a relief. Nick really hates seeing her worried, so it's good to know his crooked sense of humor is still enough to console her. Now that he thinks about it, he's been taking care of her for almost ten years now. She's really like a daughter to him, he realizes, slightly startled. He's not sure he's supposed to have the capability to feel familial attachment, but whatever special prototype circuitry he has made it actually possible to become a substitute father.

'Oh Nick,' Ellie says fondly, smiling. 'You always know how to cheer me up. Oh! By the way, I didn't know how long you'd be gone, so I've taken on a new case for you. A missing girl, apparently ran away with her boyfriend, she has a history of unfortunate relationships.'

'Sounds quite simple. Too bad I have my hands full with this case already,' Nick replies regretfully.

Ellie grins. 'Don't worry, I'll take care of it. I've been out there with you a great many times already, haven't I?'

'You sure you're up to it? These bad boyfriend types can be dangerous,' Nick warns.

'Oh, please,' Ellie says, rolling her eyes. 'If you want, I can take Edwin along to act as my bodyguard. Though I'm sure I'm a better shot than he is. At least I'm not half blind.'

Nick shakes his head in amusement. 'Just you be careful out there,' he says. 'We're going to have to re-brand the agency in no time if you go on like this. Valentine&Perkins has a nice ring to it, gotta say.'

'Perkins&Valentine,' Ellie says quickly. 'And we're replacing that eyesore of a sign with something less garish.'

'The sign stays,' Nick replies, tone final.

Ellie rolls her eyes. 'Yes sir,' she mutters and salutes sarcastically. The effect is ruined when she misses a puddle and walks right into it. She yelps when her foot is submerged to the ankle and Nick isn't quite fast enough to stop a short burst of laughter at the sight.

She's still pouting, annoyed and absolutely not embarrassed, when they part ways. Nick's mood is lifted, even though the task he has to concentrate on is much less pleasant than playful banter with his secretary... or former secretary, as it might just turn out. Wondering about how he'll have to get used to the thought of being one of the two detectives at the agency, Nick arrives at the house Kellogg used to reside in and examines the entrance. The door is of course closed, like he expected it to be, and the lock is handled by an expert-level security terminal. It's an uncommon safeguard in Diamond City, although sometimes people in the Upper Stands use terminals with lower level combinations when they leave town. Nick tries three attempts at hacking, but the password must have been set manually. It's one thing to parse through code when the automatic random password generator programmed before the war by RobCo is used. Guessing a manually set password set by an actual thinking mind is completely different.

Grumbling something rather unsuitable for general public, Nick resorts to a more forceful solution. He rolls up the sleeves of his coat and shirt on the right arm to the elbow and finds one of the chopped and modified red wires he's tied to the frame right above where the flesh imitation gives way. He aligns the robotic limb with the screen and inserts the self-made plug of the red wire into the terminal's safety socket to enforce a connection. The surge of electricity sends little shocks up his arm and down to the fingertips of his left hand due to the warped nervous system wire bundles, but fortunately beyond the unpleasantness of the sensation, there is no damage done. The modification of the loose wires, back when he had it done, hurt like a mother, but ultimately paid off. The terminal gives in under the assault of the advanced code flow straight from Nick's operation center.

He disconnects immediately upon hearing the lock click. He re-ties the wires to make sure they don't hang loose to catch on anything and he slips inside. He hopes nobody's seen him. He supposes the security guards probably wouldn't say a thing to him for breaking into someone's vacated home, but he'd rather not test the theory. It would be difficult to explain why he's even snooping around this place, after all.

Once inside, Nick looks around critically. The house seems somewhat smaller from the inside than it did from the outside, mostly because of the clutter of things left everywhere. It seems Kellogg's departure wasn't exactly planned beforehand: Nick finds many beer bottles still unopened in the fridge alongside some food which doesn't look fresh. Clothes are scattered around in a rather messy manner of someone who doesn't care about the appearance of their home. The bed is set, though, and a newspaper is carefully folded on the nightstand.

Nick only finds the secret room because he expects it to be there. He is surprised, however, to see it abundant with toys and books suitable for children. There's another bed in there, smaller, kid-sized. An almost-finished cake and a half-empty bottle of Nuka-Cola are set on the chair beside the bed. Nick doesn't know what to think. Did Kellogg suddenly have a kid? Or, more likely, did he abduct one? Had he been keeping an abducted child in this house all the time he lived here? That's a scary notion; one which he really doesn't want to entertain but finds himself unable to avoid. If it's true, if there was really a child imprisoned in this house all this time and Nick did nothing about it... What kind of a detective is he? How can he claim to be a good guy, to be making a difference at all if such a horrible thing could go down literally under his nose with him being none the wiser?

God damn it. God damn it!

There's a notebook under the child's bed. Nick picks it up, opens it and finds it filled with very rounded and clumsy handwriting which clearly belongs to a kid. Frowning, he reads, expecting maybe an account of the abducted child's fear. Instead, he realizes halfway through the first sentence that the notebook is clearly dedicated to schoolwork. The entire thing contains notes on physics dumbed down enough so that even a ten-year old may understand the theories. There's diagrams and hand-drawn pictures of atomic structures where every atom has a smiley face. There's also smiley faces stamped on some pages which Nick concludes are grading marks for completed homework. The pages in the back, on the other hand, are completely covered with colorful doodles: landscapes, a sunset, birds in the sky. A few drawings of cats, which look more practiced than the other pictures. There's nothing to suggest terror or trauma in the notebook whatsoever.

And anyway, would a kidnapped child have a school notebook with them? The child was probably Kellogg's after all, and Nick just got needlessly agitated.

'Calm down, Valentine,' he mutters to himself. He produces a cigarette from the pack he carries with him and puts it between his lips. Sighing, he lights it and inhales the smoke, ignoring, as always, both the fact that over half of it immediately escapes through the holes in his cheek and neck, and that he has no lungs, anyway. It must be the motion itself, or the ritual which accompanies smoking, or something else entirely – whatever it is, Nick feels calmer already. At this moment, he can maybe understand Hancock's dependency on chems. It's a weakness, a damn handicap, but without it, it's that much harder to function under duress. It works, so there's no harm done.

He knows why he's so agitated. He still remembers that one time when the gang of slavers plaguing the city took the then-thirteen year old John. Nick looked for him for six days and almost gave up before he found the clue which led to the slavers' hideout. The memory of that time's frustration and worry over the kid's safety, the memory of being convinced John was lost forever: he hates how that almost-failure still plagues him. But that's how his mechanical brain works. Passage of time doesn't matter. He can still relive old memories like they only just happened, and the related emotions are not dulled or changed by a haze of the time passed. He can simulate it all he wants, he can put events behind layers of encoding and encryption to create an illusion of the passage of time, but Nick thinks he's really unable to process events and put them past him like humans do. Everything that happens to and around him is binary: it either happens or doesn't. He knows how to act with the whole idea of time being linear and going forward only because his operating system is built around the mind of a pre-war human.

Which is somewhat ironic, because the memories of the original Nick Valentine are the only ones he actually experiences like memories are supposed to be experienced: with that hazy overlay of longing and melancholy, washed out at the edges, uncertain and blurred.

Whoever built him clearly had no idea what they were doing.

Ellie joins him some time later, when he's completely calm again. She comes with the key and doesn't make a comment about him being already inside. She just looks at him so pointedly Nick feels really sheepish. He did just send her on an errand which proved utterly useless, after all. It certainly doesn't help that Ellie is already cross with him for laughing earlier.

'If you can go burglar, I'm keeping the caps as an incentive not to tell anyone,' Ellie announces sternly. She then somewhat grudgingly helps search the place for evidence Nick might have missed.

It's Ellie who finds a stash of caps hidden behind a wall panel in the mini-kitchen. Besides the caps, there is a small rectangular device made of plastic inside the hole. It looks like some sort of a transmitter. It appears to be snapped in half, the smooth casing giving way to jagged edges.

'What do you think it does?' Ellie asks, curious.

Nick frowns. 'I have not the slightest,' he says. 'It looks incredibly advanced, doesn't it?'

'I wonder, what source of power does it use? It doesn't seem to have any wires,' Ellie notices. 'Or maybe the other half of it did? It seems much too small to have its own power source...'

'I can't really tell you,' mutters Nick regretfully. 'For a synth, I'm shamefully in the dark about all that technological mambo-jumbo.'

In the dark, he thinks. Huh. For some reason, something about the phrase draws his attention. It's like a note written in code to save time: he knows it's supposed to mean a certain thing, but he can't find the context in which it does. Just that it might be important.

'You're just old, Nick,' Ellie informs him smugly, eyes twinkling at the opportunity to take revenge. 'Don't worry, I'm sure we can find someone who can tell us more about this device. Maybe Amari? You're due for a full diagnostic soon anyway. You can ask when you're there, I'm sure she'll be happy to help or point you in the direction of someone who can.'

The suggestion makes sense and Nick puts it away for later as a system note. There's slim chance the device is in any way connected to Fahrenheit's disappearance, but it's still worth investigating an item a known accomplice of the Institute kept hidden away in his home. The problem is, of course, it requires returning to Goodneighbor. Nick groans. It's so dumb, all this going back and forth, all this wasted time! If only there was a way to travel faster, or even just to communicate more reliably than the ever-unstable radio waves allow. Telephones are little more than wishful thinking, what with the technology required to make them function being long since lost: the lines are in tatters, with not enough electricity to sustain such an operation. But even just a portable radio would do, like the pre-war walkies-talkies he remembers the original, cop Nick using at work. It'd all be so much easier if he could investigate the clues in Diamond City and report his findings to Hancock back in Goodneighbor instead of both of them running around there and back again. What a comfortable life it would be, to be able to contact another city regardless of the wavelength-altering weather and radioactive storms! So much easier to call for backup if needed, too. Alas, no such devices exist anymore, as far as Nick can tell. It seems there's another trip to Goodneighbor in his near future. It the trend continues, Hancock and he might as well secure the road, build a guard post and establish a trade route, what with these frequent travels.

'I swear to God, if Amari points me to some tech-loving bastard back here at the Emerald, I'll shoot someone,' Nick warns. He's only half-joking. Maybe less than half.

Ellie grins. 'Just don't shoot Mayor Hancock, he still has some use in him,' she demands playfully.

'I'll try not to,' Nick promises. Both of them know he'd sooner shoot himself than Hancock, of course.

They conclude the search of the house and leave after they spend another ten or fifteen minutes finding no new clues. It's not like they have a lot, but the mysterious device at least provides the incentive to continue the investigation in any direction at all. It's better than nothing, because he's got a whole lot of nothing right now. Nick can't quite hide that he's disappointed with the poor outcome of the search, but Ellie pats his shoulder reassuringly.

'If anyone can solve a hopeless case, it's you,' she tells him solemnly.

Nick sighs. 'I hope you're right, kid,' he says. He really hopes the device provides some kind of a breakthrough in the case – and that Amari can indeed help estimate its origin.

Ellie returns to the agency, but not before making Nick promise to be careful. He complies, he promises to take good care of himself and of Hancock, then wishes her luck on the missing girl case and they part ways. Nick watches Ellie go, smiles and shakes his head when he sees Coleman the guard catch up to her. At least some people can be young and carefree in the Commonwealth, though he's convinced Coleman won't have much luck.

He returns to the abandoned drugstore he left Hancock in. The sound of his footsteps on the trashed, creaky floors is a dead giveaway, yet Hancock doesn't come out to greet him. Nick finds him at the top floor, bunked behind a wall made up of fallen shelves and file cabinets. He's got a radio with him, and he doesn't look pleased.

'Listen to this,' he says gravely when Nick sits down on the sturdiest-looking piece of debris next to him. The radio, Nick notes, is set to the frequency used by the transmitter on the roof of the Old State House. The signal isn't that good; it's no wonder. The radstorm from a few days ago is still circling the area, bound to return any day. The wind from the north is clear enough indication of the weather to come. At first, Nick doesn't hear anything but white noise. Then, among it, he makes out the intermittent beeps of the Morse code, three sort signals, three long and three short again, a break and a voice which sounds vaguely familiar to Nick speaks:

_Warn(...) -er clear of... -neighbor. Fe(...)eak. -ayor, do not return. Dan... I repeat, Mayor Hancock, do not-_

Then the transmission cuts off to static.

'That's Gladson,' Hancock says. Nick remembers the kid, something around fourteen years old, might be fifteen by now. He used to hang around Daisy's shop, chatting up customers and talking about how he's going to be a ghoul when he's older. Boy's got a total hero worship thing for Hancock going on, much like most of the town.

'What does he mean?' Nick asks softly.

Hancock shakes his head. 'Might be a prank. Doesn't matter,' he says in a tone that's meant to sound calm and cocky, but doesn't. 'I'm not gonna be kept out of my own damn town by a stupid warning.'

He sounds worried and slightly unhinged even, and Nick doesn't blame him.

'Let's go, then,' he says simply and stands up. He extends a hand to Hancock to help him up as well. The way Hancock squeezes his hand harder than is necessarily comfortable reveals how concerned he really is. Nick understands. They left Goodneighbor in as good a shape as the place could ever be. That was only a few hours ago. Those couple of hours without their mayor were apparently enough for the citizens to find themselves in danger... unless it's really just a very stupid, very tasteless prank.

God, but Nick hopes so.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't tell, I really have no idea how Nick works so I'm making it all up. That's why the dubious science tag was invented. It's going to apply to this fic a lot, believe me. Nick is illogical. Ghouls are illogical. Send help.
> 
>  
> 
> Coming next:  
> A town in trouble. Lost becomes found and found becomes badass.   
> Someone really doesn't like Goodneighbor.


	3. And he said, what a mess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodneighbor is in trouble. Nick joins forces with a familiar face to save the town.  
> Afterwards, Nick goes to see a friend in the Memory Den. Science occurs.

The entirety of the trip back to Goodneighbor passes in uncomfortable silence. It's not difficult to guess what's on Hancock's mind: the reason behind the grim warning on the radio is something Nick also wishes he could figure out beforehand. The road ahead of them is empty. They take the same route they used to get to Diamond City both because it's fastest and because it's not likely to give them any more obstacles after that last ambush. Nick isn't sure he'd like to be in the skin of anyone who crosses Hancock's path right now.

Shots are heard in the distance when they're near the library, but it's difficult to say where the sound originates from. It might be Goodneighbor, it might be any of the raider or gunner camps in the vicinity, it might be anywhere else entirely. Hell, anywhere in the Commonwealth, the sound of gunshots is more common than complete silence – but the effect the noise has on Hancock is instantly visible. The mayor tenses, becomes more alert. His fingers tighten on the handle of the knife he carries in a sheath strapped to his hip. He casts a brief glance at Nick, worry evident in his face. Nick just nods, hoping the gesture of acknowledgment can even remotely convey his support. _I'm here_ , he means to say, but holds his tongue. _I have your back, John_.

Screams break the silence. Sharp, shrill, inhuman. Feral. Ghouls, Nick realizes and a feeling of irrational fear grips his chest the same way it would if he had a heart. He shares another look with Hancock and notes that the mayor seems to feel it too:

Something's not right.

The two walk along the line of rubble along the street, moving close to the buildings to be able to duck for cover if such necessity arises. The closer they get to Goodneighbor, the louder the screams become. It takes every ounce of self-control Nick possesses to stay put when all of his instincts or sub-routines or whatever else drives him, seem to tell him to throw all caution to the wind and just hurry. He keeps an eye on Hancock and prays the mayor doesn't do anything stupid like storm into the town without any care, without any plan at all, as he's wont to do. When Hancock's walk becomes a jog, when Hancock runs, Nick follows and matches his pace perfectly. The walls and neon lights of Goodneighbor materialize in the distance, clear against the darkening sky. The air smells of death and gunfire, the scent so potent Nick can almost taste it on his tongue. He fingers the trigger on his revolver, holds it tighter in the hand that's still intact; and then they are at the gate, and Hancock raises his fist to pound on the door-

In the blur of what happens, Nick doesn't shoot when the mayor is tackled to the ground, but only barely. It's damn lucky he doesn't, too, because picking herself up and then holding out a hand to help Hancock back to his feet, there she is - Fahrenheit.

'Don't go in there,' she says in the way of greeting, and then, 'Ooof!' when Hancock can't help it and draws her into a hug which is both tight and brief.

'What the fuck did you think,' the mayor asks as he steps back. The way he glares at his security chief would probably be enough to kill a lesser man.

Fahrenheit stands her ground. She's none-the-worse for the wear, from what Nick can see, with maybe the exception of a split lip and the grime and dirt on her face and clothes. Her armor seems new-ish and she brandishes a sort of terminal secured around her right wrist and forearm. Nick knows what it is, heard about those from wasteland travelers: a Pip-Boy, a piece of useful pre-war tech from the Vaults. How Fahrenheit came upon one of those is a mystery, though, like everything else about her miraculous reappearance.

'There's no time for this, I'll explain later,' Fahrenheit snaps, looking away from Hancock. She's tense, vigilant. Definitely as bothered by what's happening inside as they are.

She finally notices Nick and something akin to relief passes her face. A surprise, since she's not known for being overly fond of Nick at all. But then she frowns.

'Sawyer's not with you?' She asks.

Hancock shakes his head as Nick says, 'He's still in Diamond City. We heard some kind of distress call.'

A howl resounds in the early evening air, so close it's damn terrifying, the only protection between it and them being the wall made of metal scraps and pieces of concrete. Something pounds on the gate and it dents slightly as though in an outline of a body. The ferals are inside, trying to get out.

'It's a fucking apocalypse in there,' Fahrenheit says, agitated. Upon closer inspection, Nick notices there's blood on her face. Doesn't seem to bother her, though. Most likely, it isn't hers.

'We need to help,' Hancock announces.

'Not you,' Fahrenheit says, 'you're in too much danger. Me and Valentine,' she decides.

'What the fuck!' Protests Hancock. 'It's my fucking town!'

'Yes, and every fucking ghoul inside is turning feral!' Fahrenheit informs him angrily, rising her voice to be heard over the screams of the ferals inside. 'So boss, all due respect, but you fucking stay out of the town walls and let me do my job!'

It stuns the mayor into silence, that piece of news, and even Nick finds he can't find a single goddamn thing to say. He stares at Fahrenheit and his mechanical brain is heating up trying to figure out some sense from what she just said. Turning feral, what does it mean, how can everyone turn feral at the same time for no reason whatsoever? It just doesn't happen, Nick doesn't think, he's heard of isolated cases of very old ghouls turning feral, but not like this, not all of a sudden, not-

'Please,' Fahrenheit says, drawing Nick's attention back from unhappy thoughts. 'We need to act. The longer it goes on, the fewer we can save.'

Hancock finally finds his voice. 'A plan?' He asks, subdued.

Fahrenheit nods. 'We'll enter through the back,' she says, leading them around the walls to the same warehouse they previously investigated when looking for her. 'There should be four... things. Some kind of transmitters hidden inside. Small, kinda like a shotgun shell, uh, slightly bigger. Must be one on every side of the town.'

'Like a needle in a haystack,' Nick complains and sighs. 'Any diodes on them? Sounds they produce?' He inquires. He needs more details.

'I've never seen one, just a blueprint, raw draft more like,' Fahrenheit replies. 'They're a cylindrical kinda shape, should be more plastic than metal. Or maybe glass. Got some kind of electronics inside. They glow blue. They gotta be found and destroyed. We destroy them, everyone goes back to normal. Hopefully.'

'What the fuck are they?' Hancock asks, barely holding onto his temper.

'Later,' Fahrenheit says.

Nick nods. 'We'll find them,' he says with a certainty he doesn't actually feel.

Fahrenheit pushes at the brick wall to uncover the hidden entrance. Then, she turns to Hancock. 'Boss. Promise me you won't do anything stupid. Promise you won't enter until we come for you.'

Hancock doesn't look at either of them when he says, 'Yeah, yeah, I promise.'

Nick makes sure the wall is securely back in its place after they're in. Fahrenheit, fully alert, moves slowly through the back alley. She has a gun at the ready.

'One must be at the hotel,' she whispers to Nick. 'Don't know about the others, though. But, uh. The signals must all overlap, so, dunno, I'll take the hotel and you go to the opposite side?'

'And when we find these, we meet at the State House,' Nick says firmly. 'Gladson was there, we need to check on him if we can.'

'Yeah, alright. Then we decide what next,' Fahrenheit says, her tone full of confidence she barely has to spare. 'Just don't kill anyone. Find that thing and don't engage the hostiles.'

Nick nods. He cracks a smile before they separate. 'Ellie says hi,' he informs her. He's damn well certain she blushes behind the curtain of red hair covering her face as she nods and walks away.

 

*

 

Nick counts being stealthy as one of his better skills. He moves swiftly in the shadows, undamaged left hand firmly secured over the grip of the revolver. He's grateful for the fact his night vision is well above that of a human, even slightly better than an average ghoul's. He moves undetected towards the southern wall, thankful for the animal-like noises the ferals produce for obscuring any sounds his careful steps might make. He holds in a startled yelp when he almost trips over a corpse. It's a ghoul, someone he doesn't know, dressed like a member of the Neighborhood Watch, but his face is frozen in an unnatural grimace of mindless hatred. Went feral, then. There's a single wound: a gunshot to the head. Merciful, given the situation.

There are other corpses as he moves along; a female human drifter with her throat ripped open and a female ghoul stabbed to death are propped up against one another in a scene which looks almost like an artistic – disturbingly romantic – installation of someone's sick mind. A few gunners are scattered down the side of the warehouse Nick is passing, their corpses mutilated so that it's difficult to tell how many there are. More dead ghouls, most with holes in the head just like that first one, cleanly shot in the center of the forehead. It suggests someone with a professional hand and a sharp eye. Nick doesn't know, doesn't care.

_Don't kill anyone_ , Fahrenheit had told him. Well, they've been doing a good God-damn job of it without his help.

Footsteps approach, unsteady and downright clumsy. Nick glances where they come from. There's a man dressed in a suit and a battered hat. Nick knows him, somewhat, a little; his name’s Connor, Conner, something along these lines. He’s not originally from the Commonwealth, he’s from Louisiana if any of his stories are true, and he’s been around since before the war. He’s a fun guy, a friendly guy, one of those recruited by Fahrenheit and Celsius after Hancock became Mayor. And he’s, without a goddamn doubt, a feral. All intelligence, all friendliness is gone from his face, pinched in something between confusion and mindless aggression. He sniffs, then hisses at Nick, stumbles towards him with arms stretched, hands curled into claws.

‘Easy there, buddy,’ Nick mutters more to himself than to the ghoul. ‘You don’t wanna attack me, I’m not edible,’ he assures.

Connor doesn’t understand a word he says, of course. He growls deep in his throat, bares his teeth. Nick’s observant; he can see the tensing of Connor’s posture which indicates movement moments before the now-feral ghoul takes off. He’s fast, but Nick’s faster. The shots ring impossibly loud in the otherwise silent air of the evening. Connor drops to the ground, a writhing mess attempting to crawl. The metallic tang on Nick’s tongue is nearly unbearable. He curses terribly under the breath he doesn’t need. He looks around, notices a stone trash can, one of the decorative ones still left over from before the war. He grabs it, the heavy fucker only possible to lift because of the strength of his synthetic frame. He puts the can like a boulder on the crawling ghoul’s back. It’s enough to immobilize Connor, but not enough to crush him. The ghoul growls, hisses and attempts to remove the weight, fortunately to no avail. Satisfied, Nick slips into an alley before the ghoul’s plight can draw others in.

He slips into KL-E-0's empty shop still unnoticed; most of the ghouls, he supposes, are swarming by the entrance gate. Hopefully, they haven't managed to breach it. If their state is reversible, if they can be brought back to normal, it's better to keep them contained. Damn, but what if they can't be cured, what if the transmitters can't be found or breaking them does nothing?... No. He can't think about it now, he can't afford to get distracted. The device he's looking for must remain his focus. It may be somewhere around here, be it in _Kill or Be Killed_ , in Daisy's place or somewhere else in the area. He regrets not getting more out of Fahrenheit. Since he's forced to guess, he thinks the thing might be here because he remembers Hancock saying the merchant spent most of his time around this corner of the town. But what if the damn merchant had nothing to do with all of this?

It's no use now, it's no use. He has to find it. Size of a shotgun shell, might be glowing blue. Well there's nothing glowing around here, that's for sure. It's nowhere in the shop and he doesn't think it will be, it's damn well impossible to slip past KL-E-0 and she almost never leaves it untended, except for now. Nick doesn't waste any more time there, he changes venues and searches Daisy's Discounts just as methodically.

Daisy isn't there either. He just hopes she's not out there, somewhere, a lonely corpse with a gunshot wound in her head.

It's not there. There's nothing like the device Fahrenheit described. It's not like investigating a missing person report, it's... worse. There are no clues here, but so much more at stake, so many lives, a whole town and more importantly, _Hancock's life_ , and Nick just can't afford to fail. He closes his eyes, breathes in and slowly lets the air out, the notion illogical and completely unnecessary, yet so calming. The air tastes like electric currents, like copper wire and something wet. His mind is clearer again.

If he were to attack Goodneighbor in this manner, how would he go about it?

And suddenly, he knows everything. Of course. It's obvious. There's only two ways to make sure the device is not easily found, two ways he would consider: hide it in plain sight – or the exact opposite. And it's not the former. It's not in either shop, not unless Nick's much less observant than he prides himself in being. The other option, then.

He leaves the shop and scouts the area looking for a pavement block out of place or ground recently moved. He passes a bench where KL-E-0 is seated, seemingly deactivated or suspended in some other manner. Even like this, she looks dangerous with a rifle by her side. The mystery of the super-efficient gunner, explained. Not surprising. Eventually, just by the metal wall, he finds it: a spot where the stone rubble looks a bit too perfect, pebbles regularly placed on top of one another like a tower made by children. He crouches to examine it when he hears a growl coming from much closer than he'd like it. Another feral is stalking in his direction, not charging yet, just like Connor didn't attack at first, like they're unsure if Nick's something worth targeting.

Nick pushes the stones out of the way and digs with his metal hand. The index finger meets glass and he almost wants to laugh in triumph. He pulls the device from the ground and stands up – and comes face to face with the feral. No. Not a feral. Daisy.

She hisses. Her face is something out of the worst nightmares. A mixture of terrible anguish and pure beastly hunger shows in her expression. When she opens her mouth, a jumble of almost human-like noises escapes her, painful and terrified. She isn't attacking, Nick realizes in a moment of horrible clarity, she's begging.

'Daisy,' he says softly, voice so low it's barely above a whisper. 'It's going to be fine, doll,' he promises. 'We're gonna help. But you gotta let me go. Is it something you can do? Daisy? Daisy, look at me,' he demands when her attention seems to wander, when she sniffs and growls in warning.

'Eeeeeeeeeeeelp...' she moans hoarsely in reply, staring straight at Nick with blind eyes.

'I'll help,' Nick promises softly again. 'I'll help, I'll help you.'

She sort of doesn't do anything. When Nick backs away, she doesn't stop him and when he carefully moves around her, she doesn't follow, but he feels her eyes on his back even as he runs to the Old State House. He slips inside like it's a safe haven. The door makes a noise Nick can't help but wince at, sure to draw more ghouls to the location. He closes it behind him as silently as he can and goes up the stairs to Hancock's office. Fahrenheit's already there, alone. She hasn't seen Gladson at all. Hopefully, the kid's found a good place to hide.

'It really does glow,' Nick says, offering up the device.

Fahrenheit looks tired as she hands him a second one. 'I can't break it and I can't damn well shoot at it without alerting the entire town,' she mutters. 'It needs to be broken. Like, utterly destroyed. Can you?...'

Being a synth means there are some things Nick can do effortlessly. Breaking the two devices into pieces with his bare hands is one of those things. The air suddenly feels less electric, the smell and taste of blood weakens. Two down, two to go.

'Any guesses where the others might be?' Nick asks, discarding the broken parts on Hancock's desk.

'The bastard who planted them spent a good deal of time by the Memory Den,' Fahrenheit replies thoughtfully. 'One might be somewhere there. The other... I'm not sure. Logically, it can be in this very building or in the street outside. But I'm sure he never came in here... At least, not that I'd seen.'

'Well how about when you didn't see,' Nick says, finally remembering what the phrase _being_ _in the dark_ reminded him of: the blackout on the night of Fahrenheit's disappearance.

She seems to catch on quickly. 'That's possible,' she admits. 'Everyone kept to their homes or The Third Rail during the blackout, so it'd be super easy to come up here. We wouldn't have noticed, down in the bar. Damn it... I should've known the blackout was suspicious!'

'You can't know everything,' Nick reassures her. 'Let's split up again. I'll snoop around the Memory Den, you search here.'

Fahrenheit agrees. 'Return when you find it, okay? I'll have found mine by then, too, so you'll be able to break them both. If... If Nate understood correctly, everyone should return to normal when the signal's gone.'

Thank God, Nick thinks and stubbornly refuses to think about the corpses on the streets.

The transmitter device near the Memory Den is hidden inside a drain pipe. Nick finds it more easily when he knows what to look for; it's like his circuitry is now familiar with the type of signal the device emits and he can sense it when he's near the source. Not only that, but the air in the vicinity feels denser, more charged to the point that it's almost tangible. What a strange device.

There's not a single feral in sight while he searches and finds the small glowing tube. Maybe they're still interested in something beyond the gate. Maybe Daisy keeps them away. Whatever the reason, Nick's grateful as he returns to the State House. This case has really escalated way too quickly.

 

*

 

It's much later in the night, after all devices are dealt with, that questions are answered at last. With the signal gone, the ghouls are back to normal and the town is slowly getting over what's happened. A bunch of people, it turns out, were hiding in The Third Rail, many ushered in there by Celsius, Ham and Daisy when the chaos first started. Young Gladson was there as well, he managed to get in at the last minute after he lost the radio signal, just before Whitechapel Charlie barricaded the entrance. Daisy was also apparently the one who hacked K-L-E-0 to temporarily deactivate her, but afterwards, she lost her mind to the feral-inducing emission like so many others. She's fine now. Traumatized, but fine. Better than many.

Celsius, who's Fahrenheit's second-in-command – a complete coincidence in the names, apparently, at least they both claim so - was one of the few ghouls not affected by the signal emitted by the devices. He spent the better part of the outbreak trying to herd the feral folks somewhere they wouldn't hurt themselves and others. He comes up to Nick, claps him on the shoulder.

'Goodneighbor owes you, don't we,' he says in his gruff voice.

He's not a friendly guy, but the way he's acting now, Nick might as well be his best bud.

'You owe me nothing,' Nick assures. 'I did what everyone would-'

'Bull's crap and you know it,' Celsius interrupts him. 'Connery owes you his life. You could've killed him. You didn't. You're the best sort, Valentine.

He smirks. 'If you ever move to Goodneighbor, there's always a job waiting for you in the Watch.'

Nick nods. He's not sure what to say. He's saved from speaking, though, because it's time for the mayor's speech and everyone shuts up.

Hancock speaks to his people in a dejected, resigned tone, sounding more empty and hollow than Nick's ever heard him.

'We suffered many great losses today,' he says and the people listen, looking up to their mayor as though he can make it all right again. Hope. He gives them hope.

'We lost good people, ghoul and otherwise, today. We lost Sandy and Marisse, the first ghoul-human couple to get married here in Goodneighbor. We lost Remy, Junes, Terence, Reggie and Sunderland from the Neighborhood Watch. We lost Taney, who yeah, maybe he wasn't with us long, but he was still one of us. We lost friends and loved ones,' Hancock pauses, breathes out, then continues. 'But even more than all that, we lost something we took for granted before it was taken from us: we lost our security, the safety of our home. They came to our home. They came here, to our town, and they tried to taint it. We can't let them win,' he announces, firmly, loudly, with the conviction born out of the stubbornness to stand in opposition against something.

He goes on, voice stronger, bolder. 'We can't let these bastards take our home from us. This town, Goodneighbor, it belongs to us. We're the people. We've suffered, we've lost, and we will honor those we've lost. But their loss cannot be in vain. We will become stronger from it. We'll rebuild our safe haven. Are you with me?' He asks, looking down at his citizens as though he doesn't already know they'll listen.

Applause answers him, and hot, passionate shouts of confirmation, followed by the crowd cheering for their mayor. It doesn't die down easy. It takes a while for everyone to go to their respective homes. It takes a while. It's a night when nobody wants to be alone.

Eventually, though, the town silences and sleeps in uneasy peace. Celsius is out patrolling, which leaves Nick with Hancock and Fahrenheit. They're both exhausted; even Nick feels fatigued, as rare as it is for him. Emotionally drained, maybe.

'I'm never doing a public speech like this again,' Hancock mutters tiredly, leaning heavily into the desk so that he's half-sitting on it.

Nick stands so close, he can feel the warmth radiating off of him. On a whim, he squeezes Hancock's shoulder in an attempt to reassure him. 'It had to be done,' he says softly.

'Yeah,' Hancock agrees. He nods at Fahrenheit. 'I haven't thanked you two yet, have I? For saving the town. For doing what I couldn't.'

The words sound so bitter when he says them. Nick thinks he understands. Hancock hates being helpless. It reminds him of things. Of times, of the past. Five years ago when he didn't act even though he could, and five years before that: when he couldn't do anything at all.

'Now,' Hancock says, changing the topic. He opens a drawer in the desk and deposits the broken transmitter devices inside. He frowns, finds a Mentat under the rubble, pops it into his mouth. 'Fahrenheit. What's your deal? Where the fuck have you been?'

Fahrenheit sighs. 'West of Concord, actually,' she says softly. She must be just as exhausted as the mayor if not more, but she doesn't let it show in her posture. She can't will away the dark circles from under her eyes, though. 'I think I'll start from the beginning?'

'By all means,' Hancock says pleasantly.

'Shouldn't the two of you eat something first, have some rest?' Nick asks, frowning.

'Don't worry, mama, I'll sleep after I'm dead,' Hancock assures him, rolling his eyes.

Nick's hand is still on his shoulder. He feels how tense the mayor's muscles are. He decides not to argue for now. The small comfort he can offer is too dependent on Hancock's mood, and Nick's not going to risk making it worse just by being overbearing. He's not Hancock's caretaker anymore. He hasn't been for many years now.

Fahrenheit looks thoughtfully from Hancock to Nick, then back to the mayor. She nods, then begins to speak.

'After we said goodnight the other evening, I was a bit too drunk. I decided to walk it off and I saw something weird. That guy, the merchant, he was leaving the Redford Hotel, but he went straight for the back alley. I thought he might've just wanted to take a leak, but then, there's plenty of opportunity for that in the hotel. And there was something about his stride. He had a purpose in that alley. A clear goal in mind. I know when people are scheming, it's my job to know, so uh. I followed him. He didn't notice me at first and I observed him. He knew about the hole in the wall. He was groping around the bricks when I apprehended him and he fucking surprised me. He tackled me, we brawled, I tried to shoot him, mostly missed but got maybe two bullets in him. Didn't do shit,' she shakes her head, frowning.

'Dude knocked me out. Next thing I know, we're in a warehouse, I'm tied up and he's smoking something foul. He looks at me and says, _Good fight_. He told me he had business to attend to and didn't want me making trouble. But he wasn't going to kill me, didn't want to, though he never said why. He left me alone and I thought he'd be coming back any minute, you know, to shoot me after all. He never did. I managed to free my legs at some point and, well, I think Nate's not going to be having kids any time soon,' she smirks. Then, she clarified, 'Nate is a vault-dweller. You'd never believe your eyes if you saw him. I thought he was one of them Institute synths when he snuck up on me. So I kicked him right in the nuts. He, uh, he found me when he was looting the warehouse for his settler friends in Sanctuary Hills, near Concord. The Minutemen are back by the way.

'Long story short, he's looking for his son who was stolen from the Vault by someone looking very much like that merchant. Nate's decent, didn't hold a grudge for the nut cracker. He gave me a spare Pip-Boy, said he had a few in the Vault he's from. He let me pet his dog and said we could track that guy together. We lost him, though, there was a rad storm, but we found something else. We found a dead Institute courser.'

'A what?' Hancock asks.

'Courser. Like... Dunno really. It's like something between an errand boy and a mercenary, but synth, and we knew it was a synth because its head was cracked open and there were wires in its brain. I only got uh, like, three holotapes from it,' Fahrenheit sighs. 'It - he was part of an operation, backup plan? He had blueprints on him, for the device I showed you. One of the holotapes explained it briefly. When I saw it, I knew there wasn't time to waste. I had to return to Goodneighbor immediately.'

'What does this mean?' Nick inquires, frowning.

'It's an experiment,' Fahrenheit explains bitterly. 'That's what their holotape said. An experiment to see how these something something clever name-waves work on intelligent ghouls, because they totally don't work on humans, do barely anything to super mutants and drive feral ghouls batshit crazy. They called it Project Vindicta.'

Silence follows the explanation before Nick says to Fahrenheit, 'You should go rest,' and when she opens her mouth to say something to the contrary, he adds, 'You've earned it, doll. You saved your town.'

Fahrenheit can't help but break into a grin. 'We did. Together, the three of us. And you're right, I'm daaaamn exhausted,' she announces. 'Permission to leave, boss?'

No answer, so Nick says, 'Go. I'll deal with him,' and it shows how far they've come from their initial relationship, from that time when she thought him a threat to Hancock, that she actually listens.

When Fahrenheit leaves the two of them alone, Hancock draws in a loud, shaky breath. He looks at Nick with tired eyes and asks rhetorically, 'So we're nothing but lab rats to them?'

'The world is nothing but an experiment to them,' Nick says softly. He finds the idea makes him nearly too angry to think straight. He fights down the irrational urge to go out there and not stop until he finds the way into the Institute, just so he could destroy each and every one of the bastards for what they did. They deserve it. For what they did to this town tonight, they deserve the worst punishment. How he wishes he were capable of simple, human hatred!

But he's not. Instead, he squeezes Hancock's shoulder again, feels the warmth through the mayor's clothes and calms down, somehow. For the moment. Hancock needs him steady, not unhinged.

'I was helpless,' Hancock whispers. 'You left me out there and I didn't even know if you'd gotten yourselves killed, if _you'd_ got yourself killed, and I couldn't even check, I couldn't do a damn thing. Going feral, Jesus, that's like... like... I don't know what the fuck it's like, but I'm scared, Nicky, I'm God-damn terrified, it's madness, it's fucking-'

Nick leans in until they are face to face and kisses him.

Their hats collide, Nick's falls off and Hancock's is knocked to the back of his head. Neither of them cares. It's ridiculous. The kiss is brief, just a touch of lips, but it stuns Hancock into wide-eyed silence. Nick draws away, still close enough to feel Hancock's breath on the remaining working sensors of his face.

He doesn't know why he did it. He doesn't know what compelled him to act. He knows only that it was the right thing to do, at this moment – because it's Hancock. It's _John_.

'You,' John says softly, voice raw; he clears his throat. 'Why now?...' He asks, incredulous, bewildered. 'I tried to get your attention since I first fucking saw you,' he mutters, looks away clearly embarrassed.

Nick chuckles. 'You always had my attention,' he says gently.

Hancock laughs, not the bubbly, cheerful laughter he used to burst into at Nick's sharper jokes back when he was still young, dumb and blond, a rebel against the dullness of life in Diamond City; no, this is not the laughter John McDonough would have laughed. It's raspy, breathless, closer to panic than even the most flexible idea of joy. Nick doesn't know what to do. He moves to put some distance between the two of them, but John grabs him by the lapels of the coat and pulls him back, closer then before, so it is perfectly natural for Nick to wrap his arms around John's smaller frame and hold him in a steadying embrace – one he clearly needs.

'I'm pathetic,' John says to his chest.

'You're exhausted,' Nick corrects him. 'You need some rest. Let me tuck you in.'

John looks up at him. A glint of amusement – a sliver of happiness, maybe? - shines in his big black eyes. 'Are you propositioning me, Mister Valentine?' He teases.

'Maybe later,' Nick replies dryly and fixes the tricorn hat on top of John's head.

_I'm here_ , he thinks and hopes John understands what he doesn't say. _I'm here and I'm not going away in a long while. Life ain't any easier for it, sure, the Institute is still out there, the world is still ended, but who gives a damn? There's always another day to worry about it all._

The thing about Nick – about who he is now, not the Nick from before the war who he had never really been – the thing is, he isn't very much like a human at all. It's obvious from his appearance, it's impossible to have any doubt about his nature just by looking at the discoloring of his synthetic skin and the charming holes in his... well, everything. He's very much the piece of garbage the Institute threw him out as. But people don't see it that way. They trust him because he doesn't try to appear human and in time, they completely forget he isn't. _That's our Nick_ , they say, shrugging when anyone asks. _He's a good man. He's got his heart in the right place._

But he hasn't.

He has feelings, after a fashion. If human emotion is driven by chemical processes, his is simulated by the sophisticated circuitry hidden inside his artificial body. His feelings are not as complex as a real person's, of course. Because of how he's programmed, he can't really be afraid for himself, it's completely impossible for him to be embarrassed or humiliated, he is not capable of cruelty. There are circuit boards in his body which could activate some of those feelings, but they are long since broken and some he thinks hadn't been used at all. Many others are still in perfect working order, though. But they're not all centered around a single processor or anything logical like that. His emotions are all over the place, literally. Anger, for example, comes from the bundle of wires behind the right ear. Sadness emanates from a small chip somewhere at the base of his throat, choking him sometimes when it reacts too strongly to old memories and new disappointments, and to Takahashi's noodles for some reason. Happiness and joy, well, the process centers for most of the positive emotions are located behind his eyes. He came close to losing half of them the last time he came to Goodneighbor and got stabbed in the eye. He was lucky.

Once, Nick could shut all those feelings down as they emerge or allow the other components of his body to react to them as appropriate if he wanted to. He had Amari disable that functionality so that his reactions could not be controlled – so that he can feel at least the limited range of emotion he does have like a human being.

Nick really doesn't know what to call the curious, somewhat queasy warmth he feels when he watches John wake up in the morning and smile the first truly happy smile since this whole mess has begun upon seeing him – but it originates, ironically maybe, from where his heart would be.

'Good dreams?' He asks, returning the smile.

'Oh yeah,' John says, 'the best. There was a zombie apocalypse in town, but a certain brave detective swept in and saved the day. He even got to marry the zombie princess afterwards.'

'… you'd look terrible in a tiara,' Nick informs him dryly. 'And isn't that a downgrade? Last time I heard, you were the zombie king.'

'Come on, everyone deserves to be a princess once in a while,' John teases, putting on his tricorn which suits him better than a tiara would.

Nick wonders if brain chemistry works for humans in the same puzzling manner in which his circuitry is currently successfully convincing him that a grinning, half-naked ghoul in a stupid hat is an endearing sight. Objectively, he knows ghouls in general make a grotesque picture. Everyone knows. Damn, even ghouls themselves know, they call their condition disfigurement for a reason. That piece of hardware in place of Nick's heart, however, seems adamant that it knows better: right in this moment, John Hancock is adorable and, plainly, just as pleasant a sight as John McDonough used to be if not more.

Just as well. If John can smile like this just from seeing Nick, then he deserves to be considered the most beautiful person in the world.

They go to The Third Rail for breakfast which for John consists of the piss that Whitechapel Charlie likes to call beer, a Jet and an entire box of dry Sugar Bombs. At Nick's disapproving look, he simply shrugs and says,

'It's not like I can die from it,' but he gets a mutfruit as well and eats it promptly if unhappily, as if to compensate for his bad dietary choices.

Nick just rolls his eyes in fond amusement. It's true John's diet is meaningless these days. It's not like ghouls need vitamins. As long as he doesn't starve, it doesn't matter whether he stuffs himself exclusively with sweets or human flesh... although Nick suspects he wouldn't be quite nearly as tolerant with the latter. There are some borders even his confused circuits will not cross.

'What do we plan for today?' He asks, looking around the bar. It's empty save for Charlie and the two of them, but that's understandable at this hour, especially considering recent events. Hopefully, all will return to normal and the usual clientele will start arriving soon.

'I got some stuff to look into,' John says thoughtfully. 'Gotta deal with that whole mess with KL-E-0, I mean. The way she disposed of people who went feral, that's some creepy shit. So I gotta deal with that. Organize some funerals, too, talk to the families about reimbursing them for their losses. Admin stuff. I'd normally have Sawyer do it, but...'

'He's still in Diamond City with Ellie,' Nick finishes, nodding. 'I'll go see Amari in Memory Den, in that case. I've got business with her and it may take a while.'

'Okay. Meet you at... sixteen hundred? In my office. I'll have Fahrenheit there too. We need to start planning for the future,' John decides. 'Them Institute bastards gotta pay for what they done to my town. And that Nate guy's interesting, maybe we should arrange to meet him.'

Nick hums an agreement. 'Sixteen hundred hours it is,' he says. That feeling in the chest, again, warm, so warm. He smiles and plants a brief kiss on John's lips, then turns to leave.

John stops him, holds him back by the arm. 'We need to talk about this, too,' he says seriously.

Nick nods. 'We will,' he promises. Appeased, John lets him go.

Everyone he meets on the way nods to him in greeting, more respectful than they've ever been. Word travels fast, it seems, and that word is that it was Nick Valentine who helped save the town and restore order. He's been kind of welcome or at least tolerated in Goodneighbor from the moment John took over, but now? Now, he's their hero – and one of them. He wishes he could just step back, relax and enjoy the honor of it all, but he knows it's a futile dream. The town is in mourning. There were corpses in the streets only yesterday. The asphalt is still stained with innocent blood. It's calm now, people are calm, but it's not the end. There's danger waiting beyond the walls. He has work to do.

Irma isn't there when he enters the Memory Den, but it makes sense: it's still much too early for her to be up. Kent is nowhere to be found, either, but Nick knows he's still alive – he saw the ghoul talking to Gladson last night and, according to Celsius, Kent didn't go feral from the signal either. Which is a good thing. Kid doesn't deserve half the horror of the world as it is.

Amari is very much about despite the lack of clients at this hour. Nick finds her tinkering with one of the pods, tongue stuck out in concentration. He emulates clearing his throat to alert her of his presence.

'Who?... Oh! Nick Valentine, my favorite hero besides the Silver Shroud!' The woman announces, sarcastic to the boot. 'Is it that time of the year already?' She asks, frowning, and seems to count something on her fingers.

'Hello, Amari,' Nick says, rolling his eyes. 'This is not about my maintenance. I won't need charging for a good three months yet,' he informs casually. 'I was rather hoping you'd help me with something else.'

'If I can,' Amari says. Her curiosity is piqued.

Nick produces a plastic box with what remains of the devices he... disarmed, yesterday. He hands it to the good doctor. 'These are the transmitters which made the ghouls go feral,' he explains to her bewildered look. 'Fahrenheit has holotapes with blueprints, she should drop them off here later. I thought you could take a look at them, maybe do some of that reverse-engineering thing you've been doing with me the last couple of years. If you could come up with a way to counteract the signal...'

'This... looks like very advanced technology,' Amari mutters, examining the damaged parts. 'But on the other hand, so were your eyes and I did fix them up, didn't I?'

'That you did,' Nick agrees, smiling. This woman is a real technological genius, regardless of how stand-offish she likes to act about it. She came up with so many workarounds for Nick's various acquired malfunctions, by now she probably knows his systems better than he ever did.

'I'll do my best. Blueprints will certainly help,' Amari says. 'Now, may I interest you in some minor repairs? I got my hands on some of this wonderful polymer mesh, and by got my hands on I mean I ripped it off a derelict second gen synth MacCready dragged in here that one time for some caps.'

'Would it be compatible?' Nick asks, curious.

Amari nods. 'It seems to have the same basic composition as your skin. I can patch up some holes, you were complaining about rain messing with your balance center when it pours down your wires.'

Nick considers this. 'How long would it take?' He asks.

'Four, five hours. I mean, I'll do a complete check-up since you're here anyway. I think I know how to kick-start that emotion core in your spinal cord, how about it?'

Nick smiles. 'I guess diagnostics won't hurt. I'd... rather not have you mess with the emotion circuits for now,' he adds cautiously.

He wouldn't like any new systems interfering with the fuzzy warmth he feels for a certain mayor.

'One other thing, though,' he remembers when Amari returns to the room after locking the door and changing the sign to say “Closed”. He digs in his pockets for the device Ellie found at Kellogg's house. He shows it to Amari and catches the glimpse of recognition passing over her face.

'Where did you get this?' She asks, clearly surprised to see the item.

'Do you know what it is?' Nick inquires.

Amari bites her lip, then says, 'It's... complicated. But, essentially, yes. I do know what it is.'

Nick waits patiently for her to open up. He watches Amari bite her lip and move to prepare the pod for the diagnostics, then he strips from his hat, coat, neck tie and shirt before climbing inside. As every other time, it tickles when the doctor connects wires to the sockets underneath the edges of skin panels. Once upon a time, due to both of them knowing next to nothing about how to set it up, the process used to cause him extreme pain. Amari almost got electrocuted once, too. They've both learned a lot since then.

The program for Nick's diagnostics does not require his system to be in suspended state, unlike some of the heavier repairs Amari has had to perform over the course of their friendship. The doctor starts it up with a series of commands input through the terminal, then takes a seat at the edge of the pod, more for companionship than because her presence is required.

'I used to be married, once,' she says softly between the slow whirring sounds the program emits as it scans the entirety of Nick's systems. 'My husband Ganymede, he had an even better hand for technology than me. We had a boy, Caleb. We lived in a settlement near Concord. Ganymede had a laboratory there and he used to always tinker with things... old and new. This device you brought... that's his invention.'

Nick can't speak during diagnostics, but he doesn't need to urge Amari on. It seems the doctor needs someone to talk to.

'He came across this pre-war experimental technology. It was like a radio, but it worked as both a transmitter and a receiver. It didn't broadcast on any radio wave frequencies, though. Ganymede thought they used to have a different signal type before the war, maybe emitted by satellite, maybe generated by the military somehow. Whatever it was, the device didn't work anymore. Of course. But my Ganymede wouldn't give up on it. It took him a year, but he came up with a way to convert the device to radio waves. Its uniqueness was in that it wasn't limited to short-wave frequencies. If you had two of them, you could keep in touch just as long as there was any signal at all. Like... like telephones,' Amari says, pointing at the telephone on her desk which serves a decorative role since there exist no phone lines after the war.

'Each device had a specific frequency number you needed to dial on the buttons and it would connect. Ganymede was so excited about this invention. He thought it would revolutionize the way people communicate. Can you imagine it? You could travel the wastelands and still have contact with your loved ones at home. With enough of those devices – he called it communicator radiophone or cone for short, we thought it was so funny and clever – with enough, everyone would eventually be able to feel safe,' she pauses, smiling to the memory. But when she speaks again, her tone loses the warmth of good memories.

'The Institute must've found out about Ganymede's accomplishment. Next thing we knew, our home was attacked. Dozens and dozens of synth surrounded the settlement and came at us in waves. We were outnumbered and out-gunned, so Ganymede decided we had to flee. I took Caleb, he was six, and we ran and – and – I don't know how or why, but he was hit, my little boy got shot right there beside me. I didn't even notice until he – until he fell.'

For a long moment, Amari doesn't say anything else. Nick wants to reach out and squeeze her hand, to offer even the smallest gesture of assurance, but at this point of the program his wiring is undergoing integrity tests and he is immobilized. He understands, though, the grief she must be going through at reliving the experience of her loss; for the first years of his existence as a synth, as far as he remembers, he had gone through the same turmoil as he tried to come to terms with the death of Jennifer Lands. And while he had almost a hundred years to learn to live with the loss of a woman he hadn't even met, Amari doesn't have the advantage of being a nearly immortal old synth. Her suffering is raw.

'Everything happened in a blur after that,' the doctor says eventually. 'The synth all just kind of... stopped attacking. One of them came up to us and said... in that awful, dull metallic voice, it said they only came for the communicator, please hand it over, thank you – uh, and it said, sorry for your loss, lady. Ganymede handed them the prototype. It got broken during the attack, but they didn't mind. They took it and left. Just like that. As if nothing happened.

'Afterwards, Ganymede changed. He never used to be hateful, but after Caleb died... there was so much hatred in him. For the Institute mostly, but I always felt some of it was for me. Because our boy died and I didn't protect him. We... stopped talking, eventually. We stopped doing anything together. Each of his angry rants about the Institute was just an excuse to blame me. Finally, I decided to leave him and I came here. Ganymede went west to look for justice or vengeance or whatever he thought he was looking for. From what I heard, he joined the Brotherhood of Steel. He writes his mother sometimes, and she writes me. She's the only reason I know my husband is still alive.'

She sighs, then shakes her head. 'Well, it's all in the past. I wish the cone wasn't broken, though. It contains a, a chip? I think... I don't remember everything, but the chip was the most important piece. I wonder if it's salvageable.'

She trails off, lost in thought. Nick is actually a little glad that he cannot speak, because he wouldn't know what to say to make it better. He's grateful that Amari considers him a good enough friend to tell him all this even though he is a synth. In a way, knowing about her past makes the doctor even more admirable to Nick. She had every reason to make the same choice her husband did, to hate all technology and especially the Institute and its synths – but here she is, a brain doctor and memory pod handler in Goodneighbor... and the closest thing to a synth specialist one may find outside of the Institute. It might be that she's biding her time, learning as much as she can about the enemy before she strikes, but Nick doubts it. Amari would know better than to waste her time with a failed prototype for such nefarious reasons. No, it's just like that: whatever her past experiences with the Institute, Amari doesn't let it get in the way of her passion for robotics.

She's an amazing woman.

The diagnostic tests combined with power charging take exactly three hours and seventeen minutes and reveal no new malfunctions that would require immediate attention. There's a fairly old error in one of his motion sensors, but it's nothing pressing, and the mysterious circuit board behind the main processor is generating a slightly higher than usual amount of corrupted data. Nothing that could in any way affect Nick's overall functions as a detective, a friend or a member of the society. The cooling system is still flawless after last year's maintenance and replacement part installation. It's a wonderful thing, not having to rely on the old, outdated fans whenever his systems heat up. Nick's memory storage is in perfect condition, although Amari comments on how it could be expanded to make sure it doesn't run out of space any time soon. A hundred years worth of data is a lot, after all.

'I'm sure I can scavenge memory chips from second gens, I'll just need to wipe them so that they don't interfere with yours,' she says and writes a note on her memo pad. She starts disconnecting the wires from Nick's body, leaving only the main cord connected to the spine which measures his vitals, and applies thermal paste which smells of something metallic to the sockets.

'What is that?' Nick asks, because he doesn't recognize the treatment. The paste is pleasantly cool and soothes the spots where the wires became too hot during the connection.

'Oh, it's just something I came up with after the last time your skin tore. It's a polymeric gel which is supposed to stimulate self-repair. I'm working on, well, more like playing with the design, anyway, I've been thinking,' Amari pauses, frustrated with her apparent inability to find the correct words. She breathes in and out, then tries again: 'I have drawn up some preliminary designs for a new sub-system which would allow you to perform minor to semi-advanced repairs without my help. It would require just a few basic tools and resources. Most repairs of this type might be temporary, but at least they would keep you from, you know, dying, until you get to me.'

The idea is intriguing. 'It sounds useful. How would you go about setting it up?'

'Don't know yet,' Amari says. 'I told you, it's just preliminary. Now, tilt your head back. Very well.'

She shuffles around, doing something Nick can't see, and then there's the thermal paste on the skin around the gaping hole in his neck,on the collarbone and jaw. It must serve as a good adhesive for the skin mesh Amari applies next, small pieces which she fits together to patch him up. It's the first time they're doing a repair of this kind. Nick can't help but be a bit excited to see the result. He really did hate irradiated rainwater getting everywhere.

'I'm going to cover it thickly with the gel,' Amari informs him, 'then I'll bandage your neck. Have it on for two to three days. It should solidify nicely in that time and if everything goes well, this piece of you will be good as new, sans the touch receptors, I haven't figured those out yet. I will, though. Soon.'

'That's amazing to hear,' Nick replies, smiling.

'If it's to your liking, we can fix your face next time,' Amari says. 'And if we're lucky, I can fashion you new skin and even classy fingernails for this lovely metal skeleton hand, unless that's the style you chose for yourself.'

'We'll see,' Nick says, thinking about how the people of Diamond City feel at ease in his company purely because they can clearly see his robotic components underneath all the damage. That's why he's always been hesitant about any cosmetic repairs. It's one thing to prevent water from soaking his innermost wires. It's completely another to go looking more human-like.

'There,' Amari exclaims once she's finished wrapping elastic gauze around Nick's neck.

He moves his head down, up and down again, shakes it a few times. The sensation is strange, but he'll get used to it. 'Two days, you said?'

'Yes. If it's not completely healed by then, you'll need to apply some more gel and re-wrap it. Here,' Amari hands him a round metal box. 'It's the gel. Will you have someone to assist you, just in case?'

Nick thinks of John and the corners of his lips twitch into an involuntary smile. 'Yes,' he says, nodding in affirmation.

Amari's terminal beeps. She looks at it, then frowns. 'Now I'll be damned...' she mutters, obviously fascinated with whatever she finds it saying. 'Nick, have you been feeling any... different, lately?'

'I don't suppose so,' Nick replies thoughtfully. 'Maybe,' he adds after a moment. Then, 'No. Not different. I've been feeling something... more often,' he admits, 'but it's not new.'

'I see,' Amari says, then looks more closely at the data on the terminal screen. 'It seems that an emotional center in your chest spontaneously activated itself. It's... amazing, Nick, the data is so complex! It appears to have been completely dormant during the diagnostics, but something made it turn on for a moment just now. Would that be the thought that made you smile?'

Nick nods, unsure if he should voluntarily divulge the information of just who it is that awakens this particular warmth in his chest. No, that's not true. He's pretty certain he doesn't want to tell her – if only to keep her guessing.

'You're a true masterpiece, Nick,' Amari decides. 'I literally spent years thinking all that circuitry was either redundant or broken because whoever designed it was a scatter-brained idiot, but no, that's not it... It was simply waiting for the right person to come along. Congratulations, detective,' she says, her face breaking into a grin. 'You're in love.'

_Yes, that's what I thought._

He spends another hour in Amari's clutches, masterfully deflecting all questions she tries to get him to answer about the object of his newly-named feelings. She tries being direct (“It's the Perkins girl, isn't it? Lucky little lady” is admittedly a little more disturbing than, “Oh my God, it's me! I knew you appreciated me, but this? This is too much, Nick!”) and when it fails, she resorts to tricks (although she has no idea how close he is to slipping when she teases, “I bet there's not a single woman in your Diamond City who'd say no to our mayor Hancock”). She threatens to throw all of her research about him away if he keeps things from her, but both of them know she'd never do that. Nick jokes that she'll just have to find out when Piper Wright eventually publishes the wedding report in her paper, to which Amari removes the wire from his spine a little more forcefully than is strictly comfortable and smirks when he yelps. Finally, the doctor gives up and just grumbles at him to never come begging for favors again as Nick gets dressed.

'We both know I'll be back here before you even notice I'm gone,' Nick jokes.

Amari sighs. 'Damn well you will,' she says unhappily. 'Well, where are you going now? Back to the Big Eyesore-of-a-Jewel?'

Nick shakes his head. 'I don't know yet,' he replies. 'John and I have a lot to discuss before we make the next move. These are dangerous times. I don't think we can afford to be hasty.'

Amari smiles. 'It's good to have you on our side,' she tells him fondly. 'Goodneighbor is lucky to have a friend in you.'

'It's not like I could leave him – you – alone,' Nick says and silently curses himself for the slip-up. Of course Amari notices it immediately, judging by her facial expressions changing from initial confusion to understanding to triumph to amusement. Oh well. She would have found out anyway. It was only a matter of time.

She promises not to tell as long as she gets to be the best man... woman... best something, for the wedding. She's clearly delusional if she thinks she wouldn't have to fight Ellie and Fahrenheit for the role.

What a strange, strange idea indeed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hated this chapter, but it was necessary.  
> Please don't diss the dubious science! It's fun. Also, quite soon, we'll be seeing some actual plot here. Shocking!


	4. Got no strings on me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before they leave Goodneighbor, there's still a lot to do. But they do leave, eventually.   
> Not before Nick meets a giant alligator called Lassie, though.

Nick meets John and Fahrenheit in the Old State House as promised, after having chatted briefly with Gladson and Kent. They boys are both very lively as they discuss how various comic book characters would defeat the Institute. Kent insists the Silver Shroud would be best suited for the job, but Gladson keeps bringing up new counter-propositions. It doesn't sound like he disagrees, though, just that he really likes to talk to Kent about comic books. More than that, Gladson now claims he's going to be a ghoul detective when he's older. Seems his hero worship deal has evolved.

When he arrives, Fahrenheit is standing with her back against the wall by the window, tinkering with her Pip-boy. John is sitting at his desk looking intently at a cup of something steaming hot which stands dangerously close to the edge. Sure enough, he accidentally knocks it over with his elbow when he sees Nick and straightens. It breaks and its contents spill all over the floor.

'Fuck,' he says, but doesn't bother cleaning the mess. Someone's going to have to clean this mess soon unless they want radroaches to nest here.

'Nicky,' John acknowledges. 'What's happened to your neck?'

'Doctor Amari,' Nick replies. At John's confused face, he adds, 'Skin transplant from a decommissioned second gen. She says if it works, she can give me a full makeover. I could look like a pre-war heartthrob with no effort at all.'

John frowns. 'Whatever the hell for? I like you how you are,' he announces, then shrugs. 'Well, anyway, as long as you're fine. Can we get on with it? I had a horrible day while you were in the spa, thanks very much.'

'Hancock's not fond of paperwork,' Fahrenheit informs Nick unnecessarily.

'That's what I hired a secretary for, but he's illiterate and anyway, he just had to go and run off with _your_ secretary,' John accuses, glaring at Nick.

Nick notices how the corner of Fahrenheit's lips twitches. She's holding in laughter at the expense of her boss. Nick is suddenly reminded of the rumors that Fahrenheit has a sweetheart in Diamond City, how she blushed when Nick mentioned Ellie to her. The double underline and a flower around the dot on Ellie's list. Of course. Everything makes sense now.

He wonders when Ellie's gotten so good at hiding things from him. He's going to have to talk to her – if only to congratulate her on an obviously blossoming relationship. Maybe to offer his blessing, whether he thinks she needs it or not.

'I dropped off the transmitters at Amari's,' he says in order to update his two companions on what he's accomplished before John becomes even more grumpy. 'She'd really appreciate the blueprints and she promises she'll concentrate all of her efforts on devising a counter-measure. She also told me what the device I found at Kellogg's is,' he shows them the broken communicator prototype and relays the information Amari told him.

'That'd be real useful technology,' John says, impressed. 'It's a damn shame the Institute got its grubby hands on it.'

'You know, I don't think they did,' Fahrenheit says. Urged to go on, she hesitates before explaining. 'Well for one thing, isn't it weird the broken prototype was in some mercenary's secret stash? What would he do with it? Unless it was there for a reason, like. Maybe they tasked him with retrieving its creator. He'd need to show the prototype around if he wanted to find people who might've seen it years ago.'

'That makes sense,' John admits. 'But he left it behind.'

'It's possible that he planned to return to Diamond City,' Nick says thoughtfully. 'Or he has accomplices who use the house as a base of operations.'

'The way I see it, there's only one option,' Fahrenheit claims. 'I'll go to Diamond City, meet up with Nate. He's chasing Kellogg anyway so I can tag along. We find the bastard and get him to tell us everything he knows about the cone. Then I let Nate ask about his son's whereabouts. And then when we're both done learning things, I shoot the bastard right in the balls.'

'Like hell I'm sitting here away from the action when it's my town on the line,' John protests. 'I wanna meet that Nate guy, anyway. He sounds like trouble. I like trouble.'

'You're safer here,' Fahrenheit says unreasonably, since all three of them remember exactly how _not safe_ the town is to any ghoul right now. 'I've posted both human and ghoul guards in every corner and back alley. They won't let any stranger out of their sights. It's my job to protect you, boss, and I can't do that out in the wastelands with raiders, Gunners and fuck knows what else.'

'Tough, because I'm not gonna stand aside and wait to be rescued again,' John snaps. 'I'm the mayor and I get to decide if I'm capable of doing things for my town, and I decided I am. So shut your mouth and get ready for the road.'

'Well then we're not going anywhere, are we, because if I have to protect your stubborn ass from being killed, I'd rather do that here in a terrain I know,' Fahrenheit exclaims.

Before the situation gets any more out of hand, Nick interjects: 'Actually, John, I think you should go with me instead.'

Both John and Fahrenheit look at him, blinking like they completely forgot he was there. The detective hurries to explain.

'Amari mentioned that Ganymede writes to his mother. It's safe to assume the mother writes back sometimes. She knows where he is,' he says. 'I want to talk to her before the Institute catches wind of her existence. Amari told me how to find her, I just hope it's not too late.'

Fahrenheit seems to consider this. 'Well, I suppose I can entrust the safety of my vaguely suicidal boss to you, Mr. Valentine,' she consents eventually.

'Gee, thanks,' John drawls. 'It's not like I'm an adult who can decide for himself or anything.'

'Would you rather not go with me?' Nick asks, teasing.

John huffs. 'I didn't say that,' he replies. 'What are we even arguing about? As long as I get to kill some Institute sons of bitches, I'm in. If I get a fancy new communicating device out of this, all the better.'

Just like that, it's settled; both John and Fahrenheit relax, which makes Nick glad that he decided to interfere with their fight. It's not difficult to see how they're related. Fahrenheit has some of her father's good looks, but more than that, she's the same kind of stubborn. Nick wonders briefly who the mother was. He knows she's not around, meaning either dead or God only knows where, but nothing more. He wonders if John loved her and, even though a quick calculation lets him conclude John was about fifteen or sixteen when Fahrenheit was conceived, so real love would've been unlikely – he still finds himself surprised at how much he dislikes the mere thought.

_So... this is what jealousy means, huh?_ He thinks, berating himself mentally for the irrationality of it all. Amari would be proud. So many new emotional states.

'When do we leave?' Fahrenheit asks.

Nick looks at her, startled out of his thoughts. 'Tomorrow morning,' he decides. 'We can go to Diamond City together, it'll be on our way. Then you'll go off with that Nate guy and we'll head north-west.'

He turns to John. 'Can you get everything in order here before tomorrow? I'm afraid there's no guarantee you'll be back very soon. It might all take us a few weeks.'

The mayor nods. 'Worry not, Nicky. I already have a plan,' he announces. When both Nick and Fahrenheit look at him expectantly, he grins. 'I'll have good ol' Daisy run things in my place. She's got that ghoul to be reasoned with kinda vibe, people respect her. She can read, too, that's a bonus. And there's a good chance she won't try to usurp me, too, 'cause she ain't a fool.'

Nick thinks about how Daisy didn't completely lose her mind even when she went feral, how she teamed up with Celsius to organize the town defenses and disabled the trigger-happy assaultron-come-shopkeeper before she succumbed, and he nods. 'Good choice,' he says simply.

Fahrenheit promises to meet them at the town gates at nine hundred hours sharp tomorrow and off she goes, closing the door behind her as if she knows to give them privacy. Clever girl. When she's gone, John lets out a long sigh. He takes off his hat and leans back on his chair as far as he can without tipping its balance. He stretches his limbs and Nick hears the popping noise his joints make.

'Have you been cooped up in here the whole day?' He asks softly.

John stands up and crosses the distance between them all in the span of a second. 'Yeah, but it got better now,' he says, grinning as he pulls Nick closer by the lapels of his coat, and it's strange how Nick's never noticed how he towers over John who's almost a foot shorter than him. He is very aware of it now as he looks down at the mayor's self-satisfied face.

'Hi there,' he says softly, smiling.

John chuckles. 'Hello yourself,' he breathes and hums when Nick kisses him lightly. Then he takes a step back and shakes his head, although he is still smiling.

'Not that I don't appreciate all of this, and I mean, I'm not exactly the paragon of good decision-making here,' he says, voice laced with self-deprecating irony, 'but we agreed to talk about it first. So. Talk to me.'

Nick opts for a direct approach. 'It's recently come to my attention that I've fallen in love with you,' he confesses without preamble.

John kind of just stands there, stunned into silence.

'Yes, it was surprising for me as well,' Nick admits. 'I didn't know I was capable of such a feeling.'

'Yeah, no shit,' John croaks, then clears his throat. 'I mean. God dammit Nicky, you told me fifteen years ago that synths don't feel love. That you can't. You fucking told me yourself.'

'I did. I was apparently wrong,' Nick says. 'Amari discovered that I have a dormant emotional circuit right here,' he points his hand to his chest, right where John is holding his coat. 'It... warms up when I think particularly fondly of you. I figure it always has, I just never wondered about it. There was too much on my mind.'

'You bastard,' John groans, digging an accusing finger into Nick's chest. It feels warm. Nick can't tell if the heat is from the ghoul's hand or from within him.

'You confusing, magnificent bastard. What else are you hiding from me? You're secretly an alien? Ghoul? An alien ghoul? Oh my God, no, don't tell me – you've been a synth all this time and you've come to snatch me right up!'

Nick rolls his eyes. 'No, John,' he replies sardonically, 'I am neither of these things. In fact, I forgot to mention that I am wholly, completely, one hundred percent human. As you can see.'

This time, it's John who kisses him. It feels good, it feels right, the way the warmth of John's face transfers to Nick's and makes him feel alive. Nick wraps his arms around John's waist, holding him close as he kisses back. He can sense the exact moment when the kiss turns from gentle into something much less innocent, when John groans and licks at the seam of his mouth – and realizing what is happening, he draws back.

'There's... something else,' he says, hesitating a second.

John's eyes are unfocused as he nods impatiently. 'You're an alien, it's okay, I don't mind,' he promises and tries to kiss him again.

'I have no capability for sexual desire whatsoever,' Nick states as neutrally as he can.

The words work as intended in that they make John startle. 'What,' he asks incredulously, 'you mean like you have no dick or-'

'Among other things,' Nick admits dryly, attempting to hide his dread beneath the sarcasm. He's not sure he's doing too well. 'I'm pretty sure equipping their failed prototypes with non-essential anatomical details wasn't exactly the Institute's top priority, and there you go. No-dick Nick.'

He lets go of John and steps away, attempts to prepare himself mentally for the rejection he's certain is inevitable; how could he have thought someone like John, wanted and loved by everyone, would ever settle for an asexual piece of Institute garbage? It's laughable, and now he probably irrevocably destroyed the friendship he cherished for such a long time, just because he got so infatuated with the idea of being in love with someone of his own, someone completely untainted by the memories belonging to the original Nick Valentine-

'Where do you think you're going?' John asks, rolling his eyes and drawing him back into the embrace. He offers Nick a softer, sweeter version of his signature grin.

'If you think you're getting rid of me anytime soon after telling me _you're in love with me_ ,' John says the words like he can't really believe them, 'then you're sorely mistaken. I'm keeping you, Nicky, dick or no dick. Sex is seriously overrated anyway, so don't worry. I can go without.'

It's such obvious bullshit, but Nick can't help but chuckle even through the recurring warmth which spreads all over his body at the notion of John bravely depriving himself of something just for his sake. It must be the first time he's ever considered laying something off for someone's sake, ever; luckily, his resolve won't have to be tested.

'I'm not opposed to being with you, darling,' Nick murmurs. 'I don't experience sexual desire, but that doesn't mean I'm repulsed by it.'

'So, what are you saying,' John asks, frowning as he tries to process this.

'I'm saying that with enough time and dedication, we can work it out. If you're willing,' Nick tells him.

John chuckles in disbelief. 'If I'm willing? Nicky, my man, I've been willing for you ever since I figured out how my dick works,' he says, too loud in his excitement.

Nick winces. 'You're disgusting,' he informs, shaking his head in amusement.

'Now that's racist,' John argues and smirks, the smug expression befitting him so much more than the self-loathing he is so prone to.

Nick has no choice but to kiss that smugness off his face.

 

*

 

There's not much to be said for the job of the mayor of Goodneighbor. It's got nothing to do with the official and slightly stuffy way McDonough's office is run. The role of mayor is different. For Diamond City, it's all about diplomatic resolutions, securing trades, managing internal affairs and general politics. The mayor of Goodneighbor needs to be much more hands-on and down to earth. John Hancock is not some distant figurehead for his citizens. He's someone who drinks with them, laughs with them and who beats them up when they step out of line. He protects them when they require protection and he sends them on their way when they want to leave. By keeping the walls open to everyone, he ensures free trade. He makes a point of talking to anyone who seeks to settle down in Goodneighbor. He remembers everyone's names, knows who's related to who and, for all intents and purposes, he's simply one of the people. Yes, there are more official matters he occasionally has to attend to, but more often than not, it's all just about charming his way through life. It always seems to work out well enough.

He still bitches about it when, instead of being able to spend the entire afternoon smooching with Nick, he has to actually take care of the town business.

For nothing better to do, Nick follows him around when John goes to Daisy's to convince her that leading the community in his place for a few weeks is actually something she's always wanted to try. He makes a valiant attempt not to laugh when Daisy very firmly tells John he should change his dealer because the chems he's getting must be rotting his brain. It's hilarious, watching the two argue, especially when both run out of ways to convince the other party and turn to petty insults, apparently completely unaware of the small crowd gathering to watch the spectacle. They only tone it down when someone (definitely _not_ Fahrenheit) comments loudly how they should bang and the rest of the impromptu audience burst out into laughter. John grumbles at the nerve of some people, but he continues the negotiations with Daisy in the backroom of her shop, away from prying eyes and curious ears.

Daisy eventually agrees to John's request, of course. No matter how she hates the idea, she knows she is the only right person for the job.

'You could have helped me with all that,' John complains grumpily later. They're sitting in a corner booth in The Third Rail, just the two of them now, after the mayor held a debriefing for his most trusted henchmen, a group which consists of Daisy, Whitechapel Charlie, Ham, the Gladson kid for some reason (“He's good and loyal, Nicky, and he knows how to operate the radio. That's twice as useful as Sawyer, come to think of it. Give him some credit!”) and Magnolia (“She's a great singer, people like her and you should _see_ how good this woman is with a mini-gun!”). Fahrenheit and Celsius were there as well, obviously. It's a pity KL-E-0 couldn't be trusted; after her stunt with the people who went feral, the assaultron-come-shopkeeper is now serving a punishment as guard in the brig for the next six months, assigned there by an override command she cannot disobey. She underwent the reprogramming procedure willingly, which Nick supposes counts as redemption. Her shop is run by Ma O'Dell in her stead, which means it's in good hands. Everyone knows Ma O'Dell's trustworthy with book-keeping, even Nick. Woman was a head accountant at RobCo Industries before the war. Nobody does finances like Ma O'Dell.

John's still glaring.

'You had it all under control,' Nick says, smiling into the pitcher of something that smells suspiciously like battery acid but is, according to Whitechapel Charlie, the best spirits in the Commonwealth. It would burn his tongue, mouth and possibly his brain if he were not a synth. He drinks it because it makes the robot bartender mad. Clearly the beverage was meant as a prank. Well, the joke's on him: Nick's systems are perfectly capable of synthesizing and absorbing non-organic particles from everything he consumes, especially after Amari installed the latest eco-friendly, wasteless upgrade she designed. The drink won't hurt him. It may actually prove beneficial. Maybe some of his circuits can use the chemicals.

John rolls his eyes, unhappy with Nick's lack of compassion. 'You're supposed to be nice to me,' he demands. 'C'mon, is it that difficult? Say, “poor mayor Hancock, you're so brave, let me kiss it better”...'

'You're ridiculous,' Nick informs him dryly, 'and I've half a mind to actually kiss you right now in front of everyone just to spite you.'

'What got you in such a contrary mood?' John asks, whining forgotten instantly. He looks like he's considering whether he should take Nick's words as a threat or an offer.

Nick shakes his head. 'I'm not contrary,' he says in amusement. He likes the way it makes John laugh. He enjoys the atmosphere of the bar, the soft music, the heavy smoke in the air, Magnolia singing in the background, all reminding him of pre-war jazz clubs the original Nick Valentine used to frequent with Jenny. Maybe because of those memories, maybe because of something else, this feels almost like a date. Their first date. He regrets there are no candles.

He didn't expect to turn into a mushy romantic. Must be the old age.

'How's that thing on your neck?' John asks, looking at the bandage.

'Now that you mention it,' Nick trails off, pretends to think about it – then smirks as he says, 'Nope, nothing. It's completely numb. I lost the nerve synapses there when I acquired the wound, you know. You could stick your knife anywhere in the area and I wouldn't notice unless it damaged the wires or the spinal cord.'

John looks amused. 'Whoa. Didn't know you were into such kinky shit,' he teases and chuckles when Nick rolls his eyes.

'Yes, I am incredibly turned on right now,' Nick says, using the most monotone voice he can and matching it with a completely blank expression.

John loses it in a fit of giggles. Nick watches him in wonder, relishing the swell of warmth in his chest which spreads all over his body. For so many years, he simply existed with only the distant memories of what it was like to be happy, without knowing he could feel this way. Synths don't need to love, there's no point in it, and he was so sure... so stupidly certain... and then he got proven wrong. He's never been so glad to have been wrong, before. It's just how it is; having this now, these moments, it's a blessing, a God-damn miracle.

Of course, not all's perfect. It still hurts, remembering Jennifer Lands. She, or rather her death, is one of the most vivid memories, forefront in the original Nick's mind, a memory which will not fade away even now. Her face when she saw Nick, smiled, lifted a hand so as to wave – the frozen mask of it turning grotesque when she was shot. Sometimes, when he lets it, that single moment repeats itself in a loop before his eyes, and it hurts, because losing someone beloved always hurts. But Nick – Nick is not the man who loved her, not the man she loved. He's a prototype synth stuck with both the morality and the trauma of a pre-war cop. He's a copy of what that man was like as a person. For long, he wondered if that's all that he is; if the only reason why he does things is because that man would have, too.

But not anymore. He's pretty sure the original Nick Valentine wouldn't have loved John Hancock.

'So,' John says when he's no longer laughing. 'We're finally going on our journey to the wastelands, huh? No running back and forth between here and the Green Eyesore.'

Nick chuckles at the choice of words. 'Well, we will stop by Diamond City to drop Fahrenheit off,' he reminds John.

The mayor waves his hand, blowing it off. 'Details, details. After that it's all our honeymoon.'

'I'd hardly call a wild goose-chase across the wasteland a honeymoon, but sure, doll, whatever strikes your fancy,' Nick remarks.

John grins. 'Doll, huh. Don't look like much of a doll, though,' he teases.

Nick shrugs. 'I like you perfectly well as you are,' he says simply.

'You can't do that,' John protests, embarrassed all of a sudden, 'you can't keep saying such things to me. You want me to do something stupid here, in public?'

'I'm sure the people of ol' Goodneighbor wouldn't mind,' Nick informs him.

John takes that as consent and kisses him right there in front of anyone who happens to look. Nobody minds.

Nick least of all.

 

*

 

There's a lot still to do before they can leave for Diamond City. John gets into some last minute meetings with Daisy and Celsius. Nick uses that time to run errands for anyone who needs help. He finds a missing cat for Ma O'Dell, then a missing kid who was out looking for the cat. He assists Vernon in restoring the entrance gate indented during the Incident. He gets a real beer for Ham, which requires some good old bullshit and a lot of charisma because apparently, Whitechapel Charlie has a secret stash he really doesn't like to part with. Along with Fahrenheit, he also goes looking for some weird-ass moonshine ingredients old Leghorn requests. He's pretty sure it's going to end up undrinkable and possibly poisonous, but it's something to do.

It's after he's back from that errand he runs into Connery, the Neighborhood Watchman he didn't kill. Guy looks no worse for the wear than anyone. Most of the people affected by the signal are recuperating at their homes, sleeping off the trauma, but not him. He's already on patrol, as if nothing ever happened, even though he's still limping.

'Nick Valentine,' he greets, bowing his head respectfully. 'It's good to see you. I appreciate the chance to thank you personally.'

Nick smiles. 'Thanks aren't needed, but appreciated,' he says. 'What's more important is, you're mostly in one piece. Town would be dull without your outrageous stories from Louisiana.'

'Outrageous! Ha. See if I tell you about the seventy-foot alligator I fought with my boys in New Orleans!'

'Seventy-foot?' Nick asks dubiously. 'You sure you were sober?'

'You don't believe me?' Connery inquires dramatically. 'You better believe it! Seventy feet and not an inch less, the beast terrorized the whole damn city. Rumor had it, it lived in Lake Pontchartrain for hundreds of years. Some said it was the last descendant of dinosaurs. You can't make something like that up, detective, man, you really can't. She was magnificent! Her teeth were the size of my arm, she could swallow you whole and she'd never notice.'

'How'd you kill it, then?' Nick asks, intrigued despite his doubt in the truthfulness of the story.

'We didn't,' Connery reveals grimly. 'We ran away when she got and eaten my mate Russo. Damn nasty business, his wife couldn't get them insurance bastards to pay up. Apparently getting eaten by a giant alligator wasn't covered in Russo's insurance plan. Now, had he been eaten by a normal-sized alligator, that would've been a different story.'

'Life before the war sure was wild,' Nick concludes, amused.

'Like you wouldn't believe, my good man, like you wouldn't believe,' Connery agrees. 'One might aaaalmost say, getting turned feral is nothing in comparison to seeing a mate get chomped like damn puppy chow. By the way...' he trails off.

'Yeah? I'm listening,' Nick assures.

'Ah, nothing. I just thought. You're going out there, right?' Connery asks. At Nick's confirmation, he goes on: 'Well, I heard some wild gossip. There's supposedly a real dangerous thing out there. Not quite like Lassie was – we called the alligator Lassie, because she was a lady – yeah, the thing out there's not quite like Lassie. But it kills people. Folks say it's one of them Deathclaws, but not a regular Deathclaw. Supposedly an albino.'

'An albino Deathclaw,' Nick hums thoughtfully. 'Never heard this rumor.'

'That's not the point,' Connery protests. 'Point is, if you come across it, mark the place on a map or something, write it down. And bring the location to me. Come spring, I'll assemble a party and we'll go hunt the beast down! Like the old times.'

'I'll... see what I can do,' Nick promises and bids Connery farewell.

What a day.

 

*

 

The Commonwealth does not cover a particularly big area, all things considered. Back in the day, traveling between the two locations now called Goodneighbor and Diamond City used to take less than an hour on foot. By car or subway, even less. The world seems so much bigger now than it used to be. Nick supposes it would still be possible to cover that distance in about an hour, if only one had a way to avoid being noticed by super mutants, raiders and other distractions. The roads there are in surprisingly good condition, considering the state of the nearby buildings and the fact nobody's done maintenance on them for literal hundreds of years. Problem is, every couple hundred feet, one can expect an ambush or a random encounter with something nasty. It’s slightly easier to go unnoticed when alone, a fact Nick took advantage of a few times when he had business in Goodneighbor. But alone, the risk is much greater; after all, the bigger a group, the more valuables it carries.

Their group is just three people, but between Nick’s synthetic precision, John’s deadly skill with the knife and Fahrenheit’s heavy fire damage and Pip-Boy augmented efficiency, they are a formidable team. They make fast work of the super mutants patrolling the area and take a detour to put an end to their camp north of the Freedom Trail. Nick hasn’t hunted for enemies ever before, hasn’t cleared out a damn nest of monsters like this. On the one hand, he isn’t exactly comfortable with going to someone’s home and committing wanton murder like it’s well within his rights. On the other hand, though, it’s difficult to feel sorry for violent, mutated cannibals setting up traps for travelers and acting more like rabid animals than what used to be humans. To be completely honest, he’s just glad they won’t attack anyone again and the roads will be safer for passers-by… at least until another group of predators turns up.

‘Good shooting,’ Fahrenheit compliments him afterwards, when she’s done looting the nest for a new chest plate. The one she found is good quality military-grade armor plate, barely even dented, no holes in it or anything. It’s got an emblem painted on the breast, a red hand. Nick doesn’t really recognize it. Might be tribal, or a new gang he never heard about. Fahrenheit doesn’t seem to care about the insignia. She just puts on the chest plate and grins.

‘Heavy bastard,’ she announces. ‘But padded well. Probably the best-fitting armor I’ve had in a while.’

‘Lucky you,’ John says, rolling his eyes, which looks… kind of strange, a tad disturbing, on a ghoul whose entire eyeballs are wholly black. Nick is rather astonished that the sight gives him a surge of that warm feeling in his chest. He makes a mental note in his memory system to speak to Amari about installing a new fan around there, he wouldn’t want his wiring to be affected by the frequent temperature changes. She can go crazy with the cooling systems, actually, they’re overdue for an update anyway.

‘Either of you need anything?’ Fahrenheit asks, rummaging through a wooden crate approximately twice her size. ‘There’s a rather nice sequin dress here, think Ellie might want it? No, she doesn’t like pink… Ouch! The fuck's with this thing... Huh. Now this is interesting,’ she re-emerges with a gun in her hands. And not just any gun. It’s an antique revolver produced in the second half of the twentieth century. A Smith & Wesson Model 29, incredibly well-preserved. Nick remembers this gun from the original Nick’s past. It’s the most iconic six-shooter of the pre-war era, known for its accuracy in single action mode and incredible speed in double action. Combined with superlative good looks, the gun was quite a big deal among twenty-first century collectors… such as, incidentally, the Boston cop Nick Valentine, approximately two hundred years ago.

'Looks old,' John comments, but he casts a knowing look at Nick, whose interest in the gun is apparently much more obvious than he would have liked.

'Looks classy,' Fahrenheit corrects him. She shrugs and hands the revolver to Nick without a second thought. 'Totally your style, and helluva lot better than that pipe contraptions they call guns nowadays, isn't it?' She says, smirking.

Nick nods, smiles at her. 'It's one of the best guns of its time,' he says. 'And, can you believe it, it's actually even older than me?'

Fahrenheit laughs. 'Just make sure it works before you go taking on Deathclaws or something, yes? Boss here might not forgive me if you die because the gun exploded in your hand,' she announces, mock-seriously.

John crosses his arms. 'Nobody's dying,' he claims sternly. 'Now if the two of you are done playing at being best buddies, can we get a move on? It's getting kinda boring.'

'He's jealous,' Fahrenheit announces in a scenic whisper. 'That's how Hancock acts every time he doesn't get the attention he thinks he deserves.'

'Pffft, right,' John huffs, 'like I need you guys' attention. It's just that I wanna get this freak show on the road, okay? My honeymoon's on the line!'

'Since when are _you_ married?' Fahrenheit mocks.

Nick steps up before John can say anything too embarrassing. 'We're not,' he says calmly and, yes, it is kind of satisfying to see the realization dawn on her face.

'Not _yet_ ,' John supplies, grinning smugly.

'I don't remember you proposing,' Nick teases. He holsters his new gun which he will have to test out when they're somewhere safer. John's right, they've been stalling here longer than necessary. Really, if they keep going at this rate, it's going to take them a whole day just to get to Diamond City. Although, he wouldn't really mind rummaging around some raider stashes in search of nice, sturdy armor for Hancock. It'd make him feel better. Ghouls may be a bit more resilient than humans, but still, running about the wasteland wearing nothing but the red coat and an old shirt and _no armor_ is just too risky. Nick swears inwardly. He should have made John grab something to protect himself at Daisy's. Well, maybe he can find something halfway decent in Diamond City, then just some tinkering should do it.

They all enter Diamond City together this time, John in the same type of disguise Sawyer used to bring the message before. Nobody pays them any mind, mostly because it's Nick with friends and most people either trust or ignore Nick around here. One of the guards nods at them in greeting and moves on, another waves from a distance. Grateful for that fortunate turn of events, Nick safely leads everyone to his home and lets them in.

There's nobody in but Sawyer who takes one look at them and says, 'Well fuck. I mean, good to see you, mayor Hancock and all. I just hoped y'all were Ellie.'

Nick is absolutely certain that were he a human being, all blood would drain from his face. An uncomfortable feeling settles somewhere in the pit of his stomach. 'What do you mean? Where is she off to?'

'She, uhh. She told you she took a case, right,' Sawyer supplies. 'Only it led to someone called _Skinny Mallone_ or something sleazy like that. I mean, I'm not sure, I just repeat what she told me!' He raises his voice in a panic-like way when Fahrenheit comes up to him.

'Why the fuck aren't you out there with her?' The woman asks coldly.

'Oh c'mon Fahr, I'm a ghoul in a city of ghoul-haters, I can't go roaming the streets, those people would shoot me on sight like I'm some fucking feral! And anyway, I sent a guy to find her for me, nice guy, name's Nate, he a vault dweller, looked kinda trustworthy, I mean I guess, hard to say with that mask on his face,' Sawyer explains. He talks fast, likely fearful that his life might come to a sudden end if he doesn't hurry.

At the mention of the vault dweller, Fahrenheit looks momentarily less murderous, although the glare she directs at Sawyer could still melt a hole in a steel block. Nick thinks maybe the guy doesn't really deserve it. After all, when Ellie gets it into her head to do something, there's no stopping her, no talking her out of it. She decided to play detective in Nick's stead and, well. Sawyer couldn't have done a thing to change her mind.

John sighs. 'So, return trip?' He asks. When everyone looks at him in question, he clarifies, 'Well, Skinny Mallone operates from Vault 114, yes? We go there, help out, then go our merry way once we make sure both Ellie and that mysterious man Nate are safe.'

'I'll go,' Fahrenheit volunteers. 'You guys have your own mission. You may be useful in Sanctuary Hills actually, there's your kind of business there that needs attention. I can take care of things here. I'll take Sawyer as cannon fodder, too.'

'Hey! I'm too cute to die like that!' Sawyer protests indignantly.

'Are you sure?' Nick asks seriously, ignoring the ghoul secretary. 'It might be dangerous. Skinny Mallone runs a tight operation.'

'Well, you haven't seen Nate in action,' Fahrenheit says, smirking. 'There probably won't be much for me to do when I get there. It's the two of you that better be careful. If you don't bring back the boss in one piece, Valentine, I'm gonna sell you for scraps, yeah?'

'No threats required,' Nick promises.

John groans. 'Dunno if you guys noticed, I can take care of myself! I've lived this long, haven't I? Sawyer, tell them.'

'I threatened you with a pencil and you fell for it, boss, so I really can't say,' Sawyer remarks smugly.

John throws a stapler at him.

 

*

 

It's well past noon when they each take off. Nick locks up the office, feeling only slightly guilty about leaving. There are bigger concerns than detective work right now. He leaves the key with Piper Wright who asks questions like she can't help it (“Is it a new case? Does it have anything to do with Ellie leaving? Do you know anything about the rumors that the Institute attacked Goodneighbor? Do you know there's an actual _vault dweller_ in Diamond City right now?”, to all of which Nick replied with a _no comment_ ). She quite clearly recognizes John, too, if only by his trademark red coat and hat, but she doesn't say anything. She just makes a face. Yeah, she doesn't like John Hancock. No wonder. The mayor of Goodneighbor did explicitly ban her paper from the town because _there's enough trash in Goodneighbor without a glorified tabloid to add to that_.

She'd be so flattered to learn he reads it himself, though... and so surprised to know who he used to be.

'Will you tell me when to expect you back, at least?' Piper asks, tone laced with worry. She's one of the people who think Diamond City is only as safe as it is because it has the ever-vigilant Nick Valentine guarding its inhabitants.

'Difficult to say,' Nick says apologetically. 'I have to attend a very delicate matter. Discretion is imperative, doll.'

Piper grumbles under her breath. 'I'll get that interview out of you one day, Nick,' she promises.

Behind him, John snorts in amusement. Nick steps on his foot to shut him up, to which John gives him a look of offended innocence that would make even a rock feel guilty. Well, Nick's not a rock, so he just rolls his eyes, says goodbye to Piper and Nat, and pulls the non-resisting John along to the exit by the wrist, feeling vaguely like a parent with a petulant child.

It's a pretty day, good for travel. The sun is partially covered by clouds, but it's still warm enough not to worry about a repeat of an October two years ago when winter came early and froze half the late-fall crops. It was a long, difficult winter. Without the help of the extinct Minutemen, some settlements were abandoned when their inhabitants moved to bigger towns in fear of starvation. Others which fared better fell victim to raider attacks. Diamond City dealt with it, of course, it's in the middle of a trading route; Nick thinks it could have fared just as well if more people were let into the city instead of left to their fates, but he's not qualified to judge. Amazingly, John's Goodneighbor was even better off. As it turned out, John Hancock's not only good at running a place when it's convenient. Since the moment he became mayor, John began to store grains, canned foods and root vegetables in his warehouses in anticipation of a hard winter or another unlucky turn of events. He made sure the goods were distributed evenly among the people. He also assembled hunting and gathering parties, equipped them with best quality armor and weapons. This way, he assured a steady supply of meat, wild produce and fuel. Throughout all this, he never denied a single person entry to Goodneighbor, as long as they didn't cause trouble and agreed to do their share of work for the food and warmth.

Last winter was hard on everyone, but Goodneighbor made it through better than anyone else. Still the community of criminals, drifters and wanderers – but a community forged in fire.

'Wonder when it's gonna snow this year,' says John and Nick smiles at the coincidence of their thoughts running along the same lines.

'Hopefully not for a few months yet,' he replies.

'Yeah,' John agrees, sighs. 'Snow's all fun and games until people start dying. But it can be fun. Remember when you got me out of that building that got snowed-in? You actually dug a tunnel through the masses of snow to rescue me. Got me feelin' all warm inside, ya know?'

'You were thirteen years old and kidnapped by slavers,' Nick reminds him dryly.

'Yeah, true. Can't help it, I was a pretty kid, all blond locks and rosy cheeks. Perfect mark for slavers,' John jokes. 'And it turned out good for me. You made me your apprentice, right?'

'And I regretted it forevermore,' Nick mutters. He smirks when John pouts at him. 'What? You were a terrible detective.'

John groans. 'So what! You still took me everywhere. Didn't seem very regretful to me.'

Nick chuckles. 'As if you'd let me go without you,' he says fondly. 'I tried to visit Irma and Doctor Amari once without you. You followed me half the way to Goodneighbor. 'Twas a miracle nobody snatched you right from the street before I noticed you.'

Their pace isn't very demanding, even slower actually than Nick would have gone by himself. It's not because John is slowing him down, though. It's like neither of them is in much of a hurry. They avoid the shortest route through Cambridge because rumor has it, there's a Brotherhood presence around the area. Instead, they head west to the Oberland Station, pass it and head north towards Concord. Nothing bothers them for a good few hours of the road, not even Bloatflies. To make the trek more entertaining, John spins wild stories about the places they pass which Nick knows are absolutely not true.

Eventually, they stop by an abandoned farmhouse. It smells of decay and fire, but it's completely empty, like it was recently cleared of feral ghouls. There's a pyre out back, nothing but warm ash and bones. Somebody took the time to gather the corpses and burn them, so it's definitely not raiders.

'Maybe that Nate guy was here,' John says. 'Why we stopping here anyway?'

'Sun's setting,' Nick replies, pointing towards the horizon with his chin.

'What, afraid of the dark?' John teases, grinning.

'There's no point wandering the wastelands in the dark. Nights are darker here than in cities,' Nick explains seriously. 'And we don't know where we may have to go after this Sanctuary place. Better keep you rested.'

'I'm not tired though,' John protests.

'You don't feel tired,' Nick agrees, 'but you're not used to walking long distances. Your body's gonna shut down if you don't sleep regularly.'

John chuckles. 'Nick Valentine, private detective, part-time mother and expert on ghoul physiology,' he jokes, shaking his head fondly. 'Yeah, okay, let's set camp here. But just so you know, I have no intention of sleeping without your arms embracing me lovingly.'

Nick smiles. 'I can live with that,' he agrees and begins to set up a campfire while John takes off to find something to use as a bedroll that doesn't smell too foul and isn't crawling with bugs.

It's only six-thirty in the evening, forty-three minutes after sundown, when they sit in the pleasant warmth of the bonfire. John pulls out his knife and plays with it idly, staring into the flames. Nick watches him, he can't help it; can't help but feel fascinated by the way John's black eyes reflect the fire. He's beautiful, in spite of everything. If anything in this post-war, dirty and rotten world can be beautiful at all. Nick hates the glaring red and magenta post-apocalyptic sunsets, nights which are too black and starless, days gray and dull. Radstorms and dry, hot summers. People no longer care enough to dress nicely and look decent, they're just... tired all the time. There's no art, no music left but some pre-war staples which drive Nick crazy after so many years of hearing them nothing else. Original thought almost doesn't exist, killed altogether by pure survival instinct. It's a sad, ugly world.

John is like a beacon in the dark, his black eyes, wrinkled, scarred flesh and stupid hat, his laughter and his hoarse voice, the bravado and all the illogical choices he made. He's been through so much, but he didn't break... he just changed, transformed, instead, and that, that – Nick can't help but admire it. Admire _him_.

'What'cha thinkin' about, Nicky?' John asks lazily, snuggling closer to lean into Nick's side, knocking off his tricorn in the process. He's warm, unaffected by the chill in the evening air.

'You,' Nick replies truthfully. 'It's been happening a lot,' he admits somewhat awkwardly.

John laughs. 'I'm a wonderful subject for daydreaming, I'll give ya that,' he teases. 'To be honest though, I've been thinking about you... and about us, too... a lot.'

'Any conclusions?' Nick inquires, then pulls him even closer, into a one-armed embrace. John fits snugly against his side. He's been acting much less touchy-feely than when he was still human, but he doesn't seem opposed to the new-found closeness. In fact, he seems to enjoy it as much as Nick does. He's so warm. Ghouls have higher body temperature than humans, which has the unfortunate side-effect: they get cold easy. Or at least John does. Sharing body heat is the most pleasant way to keep warm Nick is aware of. His own synthetic body produces a lot of heat he can share.

'I love you,' John says.

'Just like that?' Nick asks, drawing lazy circles on Hancock's palm with the fingers of his undamaged hand. 'No questions, no complaints, no _it's been fifteen years_?'

'Just like that,' John whispers, smiles. 'You're here. I'm here. I don't need anything else. Now be a romantic and kiss me.'

Nick does. Briefly, just a touch of lips to John's. The texture of John's skin is different than Nick would have expected. Smoother, but still rough, like, like superfine grit sandpaper. A bit too dry due to lack of sweat glands, but still soft and so warm to the touch.

'Ye call that a kiss?' John murmurs. He lifts a hand to place it on Nick's cheek. He doesn't even flinch when he comes in contact with the torn artificial skin. He strokes at the edge of the tear with his thumb, but the delicate caress barely even registers on the few unbroken sensors in that area.

'I haven't had much occasion to hone my skill,' Nick tells him. When John moves to sit in his lap, legs spread on either side of his, Nick wraps his arms around John's waist.

'Ooh, you must be a natural then,' John coos, then chuckles and takes off Nick's hat. 'Now that's outta my way... kiss me. Like ya mean it this time, Nicky. With tongue and all. I know ye got one.'

'You want a kiss or is it a God-damn conversation now, huh?' Nick grumbles.

John makes a soft, amused noise. 'Dunno,' he whispers. 'Maybe I'm feelin' intellectual now...'

Nick smirks. 'In that case, I've a selection of good books we could be discussing,' he says.

John growls, a low, threatening sound originating from deep within his chest; he glares at Nick before he lunges forward to press his lips against Nick's. His nimble fingers loosen Nick's tie. He pulls on it and smirks into Nick's lips when the ties comes off, then he makes a surprised little noise when Nick holds both his wrists easily with the metallic hand. It turns into a raspy moan as Nick's good hand begins to work the knot of his sash.

'Tell me what to do,' Nick whispers against his lips.

'Nicky, oh God,' John breathes, 'just. Touch me.'

It's not easy to navigate this. Nick has neither the knowledge nor the experience required to proceed, so he just kind of awkwardly massages John's inner thighs through the fabric of his pants. He must be doing it right, because John arches into the touch. Nick lets go of John's wrists, he needs both hands to unbutton the tight pants John's wearing. He's at a loss what to do next, though; the brief scan of the old memories gives him a few snippets which make him feel uncomfortable – he doesn't want to be thinking of _Jenny_ right now – but provide no help at all.

'John,' he says softly. He feels a warmth in his face caused by something – embarrassment? Shyness? It's new, not a sensation knows – and he takes a deep breath he doesn't even need. 'John, I don't... I don't know what to do.'

It has a sobering effect on John. He looks at Nick, eyes wide and shiny, uncertain all of a sudden. Then, he looks away, licks his lips. 'I'm, uh... I'll just...'

'Show me. Teach me,' Nick says. 'I want to make you feel good, John. I just need to learn how.'

'God, you're so perfect,' John tells him, voice filled with genuine appreciation. 'I got carried away here, didn't think what it means for you. This... your first time, huh? With a guy...'

'Technically, my first time with anyone,' Nick corrects him. 'These memories I have, they're not mine. I don't... consider them mine. I'd delete them if I knew how.'

John nods. 'Okay,' he says and lifts a hand to stroke the ridge where the skin of Nick's face is melted. One of the earliest damages he's sustained, way before John was even born. The spot no longer has any nerve synapses, or at least shouldn't have, but Nick feels a gentle tingling sensation where John's fingers connect with his face. It's illogical. It's strange. It's nice.

'I ruined the mood, didn't I?' He asks, closing his eyes and moving to lean his forehead against John's.

'Nope,' John replies cheerfully. 'There's not much you can do to ruin it, Nicky. Remember, I've been wanting this for literal decades now. A little shyness and awkwardness ain't gonna ruin it for me.'

Nick laughs, a soundless chuckle of fond-laced amusement. 'Seems like your patience paid off.'

John grins. 'I got no patience left at all, sweetheart. Better listen to your lessons now because boy, the test's gonna be _hard_ ,' he cackles at the pun. Almost immediately after, he's serious again. He takes Nick's intact hand and draws circles on its palm with his index finger.

'First thing you need to know is, ghouls are hyper-sensitive to touch. Like, my whole body is an erogenous zone. So, when you pet me like this earlier,' he smiles, 'I had to think very un-sexy thoughts.'

Nick realized even before that ever since the transformation, John's been much more reserved when it came to physical contact. He used to have no concept of personal space when he was still human. It all makes sense now.

'That mean you could come just from a massage?' Nick asks. He uses his mechanical hand to gently stroke John's hip underneath his shirt.

'Oh, yes,' John agrees, breathing out slowly to calm himself. 'Lesson t-two,' he stutters and trails off, distracted, when Nick lets the metallic fingers scratch a little.

'I'm waiting for the lesson, love,' Nick admonishes.

John curses under his breath. 'Should've known you'd be a tease,' he mumbles and pauses. 'Lesson two is, use your voice,' he says finally. His face heats up. 'I kinda... adore your voice,' he explains, embarrassed.

It's completely unnecessary, but also endearing. To reward him, Nick leans in close to his ear. 'I'll give you all you need. Just ask and you'll have it,' he promises just loud enough to be heard.

John groans. 'You're going to drive me crazy before you even touch my dick,' he announces, vaguely annoyed. 'Lesson three is, uh, it's better to do stuff... well, naked, 'cuz... uh, fluids kinda get everywhere and well, it's radioactive.'

'Radiation doesn't bother me,' Nick reminds him.

'Yeah, but glowin' jizz on your fancy trench coat might,' John replies quickly. Nick removes the coat without another word. He hesitates before taking off the shirt. He's not sure John wants to see it. The damage is one thing, but the sheer ugliness of the simplified synthetic body is the opposite of what anyone could find sexy.

'If ya don't want to, it's okay,' John assures him, obviously noticing his discomfort.

Nick kisses him, long and slow, holding him close. John returns the kiss like his life depends on it, hands on the nape of Nick's neck, warm body pressed flush against Nick's chest. And just like that, it becomes easier to let go, to get carried away. John loses his frock coat and shirt, helps Nick unbutton his own shirt as well. He doesn't flinch or draw away when Nick's badly damaged, mismatched artificial skin comes into view in the flickering light from the campfire. He just presses tiny hot kisses to Nick's collarbone, right below where the bandages end. Nick strokes down his sides with his hands, careful not to hurt him with the mechanical one. It's almost instinct, then, to finally wrap the synthetic fingers of his undamaged hand around John's already leaking length, and the drawn-out moan he's rewarded with is the most erotic sound Nick's heard in either lifetime.

'Oh, fuck, fuck,' John swears, then, covers Nick's hand with his own. He moves it slowly up and down, as though to demonstrate, and buries his face in Nick's shoulder. A few strokes like that, slow and too dry and yet just right, and that's all it takes before John groans and tenses, squeezes the fabric of Nick's shirt with the fist of his free hand and then slumps bonelessly against his chest.

Their hands are both covered in a faintly glowing liquid, and it should be somewhat disgusting, Nick is aware of that, but... it's not. Intrigued, he raises their joined hands and tentatively licks John's knuckles. The taste is neither good nor horrible. Bitter and chemical, slightly salty, vaguely metallic like fresh blood. John's reaction is more interesting: he shudders and almost chokes on air, tightens the hand tangled in Nick's shirt.

'You gunna kill me if ya do that,' he mumbles semi-coherently. 'You dunno that, but it's sexy as fuck,' he adds and gently retrieves his soiled hand. After brief fumbling, he finds a piece of cloth which may well serve as a towel in their travel bag. He uses it to clean himself, tucks himself in and offers the cloth to Nick. Then, unreasonably, he throws it into the fire before redressing himself to return to a somewhat decent state.

Nick also gets dressed and he's glad for the protection against the chilly October air. But whereas his artificial skin is exposed to the coldness, inside, he is filled with an incredible, pulsating warmth originating in his chest. He isn't sure what he thinks about what just happened between them, other than the overwhelming satisfaction he derives from being the one who made John react like that. Whatever weird wiring and hardware are responsible for this post-coital bliss Nick shouldn't be even experiencing, it's... good, to have it. When John comes back to his arms, all relaxed and warm and happy, Nick realizes his mind is pleasantly empty. The memories of _Nick and Jenny_ are no longer on the forefront of his thoughts. They're still there, somewhere, he could bring them into focus if he wanted to, but it's different. As though finally, they became what they should always have been: a remainder of another life – with no more sway on his own life, not anymore.

_There are no strings on me_ , he thinks and smiles.

'You're awful quiet,' John observes, snuggling against his chest.

'You, on the other hand, can't even stay quiet for five minutes,' Nick teases softly, wrapping his arms around his lover's waist. _His lover._ He likes the way it sounds in his head.

'Hey, you love it when I talk,' John protests halfheartedly, melting easily into Nick's embrace.

'Only when you say something worthwhile,' Nick informs him. He chuckles when John doesn't reply. It takes a moment before he realizes why; he misses the exact moment John's breath becomes regular and his entire body slumps, even more relaxed, into his arms. Soft snores reach his ears, though, and he smiles fondly.

He doesn't go into standby mode, which would be closest he can do to falling asleep. It's still the wasteland, even if the night is quiet around them. In the silence, broken occasionally by screams of something foul prowling the Commonwealth, Nick watches the fire and holds his lover close.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing the sex scene was the most difficult and awkward piece of writing I've ever done. Just so you know. 
> 
> Next stop:  
> Sanctuary Hills!


	5. Solution: no.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nick and John make it to Sanctuary Hills just in time to solve a murder mystery.

They reach Sanctuary Hills around ten in the morning on the next day.

Nick isn’t sure what he expected. Perhaps a small settlement like some he’d seen before? They seem a norm nowadays. A farm, maybe, with a Brahmin or two. A few hastily put together shacks. A family or a small group of friends huddled together, cooking food by a campfire. Certainly, he didn’t expect Sanctuary would turn out to be a blossoming _city_.

It’s fully walled with sturdy concrete blocks which put the emerald walls of Diamond City to shame. Every couple hundred feet there’s a manned guard post with additional automated turrets which look like they were constructed out of scraps of pre-war weapons and machinery. The bridge which serves as the only visible entrance is additionally guarded with laser turrets and three fully-armed men in good quality gear. They wear the Minutemen insignia. There’s also a Minutemen flag on the mast at the entrance.

So Fahrenheit was right. The Minutemen are really back, and in strength.

A stern-looking man in a ranger hat greets them at the gate. There are bags under his eyes. He seems really tired as he approaches.

‘Apologies, strangers. I can’t let you in,’ he says firmly. ‘It’s got nothing to do with who you are, just. We’re not letting anyone in at this time.’

Nick frowns, taken aback by the cold tone and unfriendly attitude. It’s not what he remembers the Minutemen for and certainly not what he expected after Fahrenheit told them about the settlement needing assistance. ‘Yes, good morning,’ he mutters.

‘Whaddya mean, you can’t let us in? C’mon, mate,’ John protests heartily. ‘Nate tells us specifically to come this far ey-es-ey-pee, see if we can help, and you here says we can’t come in?’

‘The General sent you?’ The man says, his demeanor brightening immediately. Nick normally disapproves of deceit, but he needs to hand it to John: the guy knows how to bullshit.

‘Yep, Nate the General sent us. Name’s Hancock, this here ole’ tin can is Nicky Valentine, we’re detectives from Diamond City,’ John says, grinning to the man.

‘Preston Garvey,’ the Minuteman introduces himself, relieved. ‘I serve as community leader here when the General’s away. It’s a damn hard job, but it’s got to be done. Come,’ he motions at the gate. ‘You must be tired after your journey. The community diner should still be serving breakfast, and I’m sure we can find accommodation for you. Friends of Nate’s are friends of Sanctuary.’

Now Nick feels a bit guilty, but he tells himself if Nate is anything like what Fahrenheit claims, he wouldn’t mind this little grand lie. The guilt is soon forgotten, anyway, when Garvey leads them inside the city walls.

Sanctuary is full of people. Just beyond the wall, there is a regular market full of any goods one could hope to find in the after-war world. Stalls line the perpendicular sidewalks, arranged more logically than Nick’s seen before: various food vendors are grouped together, then armorers and weapon sellers, then services such as tailors, doctors, even mercenaries. The people who walk among the stalls seem to act like it’s a common thing, this marketplace, like it’s completely normal even though even the Diamond City market doesn’t offer this kind of variety. But it’s not all. The market is one thing, but going further into the city - calling it a _settlement_ is an understatement at this point - going further, there’s a kind of a machine park or rather a power plant with rows upon rows of advanced, ergonomic power generators. They connect to pylons which send power to the entire city. The plant is heavily guarded, just passing by Nick can see three different pairs of patrolmen.

The understandably noisy power plant is separated from the rest of the city by a park. It’s something beyond Nick’s wildest dreams: an area actually built and designed for recreation seems like such a crazy idea in this post-war world. There’s trees, most still short and thin, but also some seemingly pre-war, and a pond, a few benches painted Minutemen-blue, a few flower patches. Street lamps. There’s also a lot of doghouses and smaller shelters for cats. Many, many cats.

‘The General’s got a soft spot for cats,’ Garvey says fondly when he notices Nick’s expression. ‘Let’s just say, after all he’s done for us, taking care of his pets is the least we can do. They generally lift morale around here anyway, so it’s a win-win.’

‘Maybe I should bring more cats to Goodneighbor,’ John remarks wistfully. Nick chuckles and discreetly touches his hand in a reassuring manner. John offers him a grateful little smile in return. Nick has an overwhelming, irrational urge to kiss him right here and now. He doesn’t, but only because he reminds himself again and again that there’s things they are here to do.

The diner Garvey leads them to is located in the housing section of the city. It’s a big building with a herb garden at the front and nice, pastel blue curtains hanging in the windows. They have faded floral print which is barely visible in the dusty gray light of October. Walking in, Nick can almost believe, for a second, that the bombs never fell.

That’s the feeling this Sanctuary place gives him on the whole: like the entire war was just a bad dream, or like it all happened to someone else.

‘Yo, Pres, newcomers,’ a young, pregnant woman in an apron greets them at the counter. Her hair is cut short and her face and hands are clean. Her smile ruins the illusion of old times with how badly crooked her teeth are, but she must be one of the first people Nick’s met who doesn’t stink of old sweat and rot. Her piercing green eyes are familiar.

John stares. ‘Edna Sawyer, here? What’s the world coming to?’

‘Mayor Hancock!’ The woman exclaims, startled but pleased. ‘It’s so nice to see you! Such a surprise! It's Edna Sawyer-Richardson, now, by the way. After our last visit, Sam made an honest woman out of me at last!’

‘Mayor?’ Garvey asks Nick.

Nick nods. ‘Of Goodneighbor,’ he explains.

Meanwhile, John shakes his head. ‘How small the world,’ he announces. ‘Just yesterday, your brother was sayin’ you wrote him you were leavin’ home.’

‘Couldn’t stand them bigots no longer,’ Edna says, winking. ‘Edwin’s more my brother than Edith and Edmund ever were, ya know? And they don’t like my Sammy much.’

‘Why here, though? What’s wrong with good ol’ Goodneighbor?’ John asks. His tone is joking, but his eyes are sharp.

‘Nothing’s wrong with it, it's a perfect little den for smooth criminals like us, Mayor, don’t get your knickers too twisted,’ Edna replies, laughing. ‘Just, we stopped here on our way. I’m too far along to travel much, you know? But we’re coming to Goodneighbor when the little one’s born. Nate’s promised he’ll make roads safer by then.’

‘He seems a good guy, that Nate,’ John says thoughtfully.

‘He is!’ Edna agrees enthusiastically. ‘You don’t meet many guys like that, you know? He was here when we arrived and Tully loved him instantly. Calls him Uncle Doughnut and he doesn’t mind at all.’

‘Doughnut?’ John asks.

Garvey interjects, ‘Because of McDonough,’ and both Nick and John look at him in question. ‘The General’s full name’s Nate McDonough,’ Garvey clarifies. ‘You guys are really his friends?’

‘Yes, we are,’ John assures him, ‘he just never really gave his full name. You know. People have quirks. Names don't mean much. Fahrenheit mentioned it’d surprise us, though. The joker.’

‘The current mayor of Diamond City is Patrick McDonough, is all. Just a funny coincidence,’ Nick explains, deciding it’d be better to omit John’s connection with any of this for now.

Edna shrugs. ‘Far as I've been told, Nate’s much nicer,’ she announces. ‘But we’re talking and talking, aren’t you guys hungry though? Breakfast special’s still on, we’re serving pancakes with mutfruit jam. I mean… You can eat, Mister?...’

‘Nick Valentine,’ Nick supplies, ‘and yes, I can. I just don’t, normally.’

‘Sammy does that sometimes as well,’ Edna says, shaking her head. ‘You synth men think just because you don’t die, you can forget basic human needs. You gotta take care of those superb bodies of yours!’

Stunned, Nick stares at her for a moment. Before he can find his voice, though, John asks,

‘Your husband’s a synth?’

Edna grins. ‘Oh yes. He used to live up north, but he got bored and came adventuring out east. I found him hunting deathclaws around the Rainbow Manor. He's third gen. Just as human as anyone, if you ask me, just more careless because he’s convinced he’s invincible.’

‘Samuel leads the Nightwatch,’ Garvey adds. ‘He’s an excellent Minuteman. We’ll miss him after you’re gone,’ he says to Edna.

‘Yeah, he’ll miss it too. But if Nate has his way, and he will have his way, we’re going to be able to travel between here and there anytime we want,’ Edna says. ‘So, Mayor, Mister Valentine, I’m getting you pancakes. You as well, Pres? Or just coffee?’

‘I’ll take the coffee,’ Garvey agrees. ‘I had breakfast with Sturges earlier.’ He flushes, for some reason, just the tiniest hint of a darker shade on his skin.

‘Awww, you do like him!’ Edna coos. Garvey glares at her, so she scuttles to the kitchens, cackling gleefully.

They take a seat at one of the booths. Nick sits by the window, John plops next to him and Garvey – on the opposite side. Nick uses the opportunity to take John’s hand under the table, just for a moment, to squeeze his fingers and feel their warmth. Just because he can. It’s… somewhat shocking, to learn someone could love a synth so unconditionally. With himself and John, he thinks he’s somehow convinced himself John is just settling; that if, all of a sudden, the real, original Nick Valentine the pre-war cop appeared out of the blue, John wouldn’t think twice about pursuing him romantically instead. Or anyone else, for that matter, anyone who'd attract John's attention for long enough. But Edna Sawyer knowingly married a synth and isn’t ashamed of saying it. Not only that, but the guy who runs the city is aware of that and doesn’t seem to mind. It’s a very different approach to the synth problem than what Nick is used to. He only ever knew one person who never seemed to care what he is: John.

‘My apologies for the distractions,’ Garvey says, sighing deeply. ‘We’ve had a few very good months here thanks to the General and the people are finally learning to be optimistic. Plus, Edna’s baby will be the first to be born in Sanctuary. We’re… well, for the first time in forever, we’re really regaining hope.’

‘We get it,’ John says, grinning as he takes a sideways glance at Nick. ‘Plenty of good things happenin’ lately all over the Commonwealth.’

‘Thing is, that problem Nate’s sent you here for. He didn’t say anything more?’ Garvey asks, expression darkening.

‘No,’ Nick says, ‘just that you could use a detective. We were already going to come up here anyway, so we thought we’d offer to help.’

Good thing Fahrenheit said something about Sanctuary’s need for a detective, though Nick would’ve appreciated knowing a little more details. At least detective work is something natural for him. If they’re lucky, he can solve the case in no time and proceed to do what they really came all the way here to do.

Edna brings three cups of coffee on a tray, along with a pitcher of milk and a cup of sugar. The cups are chipped, at least, which helps Nick ground himself to this reality instead of the one in the pre-war memories his artificial brain conjures up. He picks up one of the cups and takes a deep breath to better appreciate the smell. It’s different from memory, the roast is probably not the same class original Nick used to get at the small Italian place on the corner just around the block from Jenny's apartment, but it’s still good the way nostalgia makes things good. Real coffee is no longer a commodity in the Commonwealth because nobody thought to grow it. Nick wonders where this place got its coffee from.

‘It’s a local blend,’ Garvey says as if reading his mind. ‘The General’s Mr. Handy, Codsworth, oversees the plantation. He’s quite a talented farmer. We never expected such variety in crops. I didn't even know coffee used to grow on bushes, you know? And our first crop of cotton came in this summer. You wouldn’t believe the effect on morale fresh underwear can have.’

John snorts. ‘Yeah, I would. Introducing soap to the heathens of Goodneighbor was my best decision to date.’

Nick rolls his eyes because he remembers how little hygiene mattered at one point in life to the young John McDonough. He can recall at least one occasion when he had to forcefully throw the then-adolescent boy into the bath, clothes and boots still on, and all but smother him in soap due to the radioactive lice panic in Diamond City. John wouldn’t speak to him for hours afterwards, but forgave him later when it turned out Nick’s swift action allowed him to keep the long hair.

The new-found appreciation for hygiene is a ghoul thing. John hates the thought of smelling repulsive, so he’s obsessively clean instead whenever he can.

It’s ironic, because he used to smell worse as a human than he does as a ghoul. Most ghouls have that lingering smell of decay about them, not necessarily disgusting, but somewhat unpleasant. John doesn’t. He actually has no smell of his own at all, save for a faint chemical tint which Nick finds rather nice. Either he’s not been ghoul long enough or the different origin of his transformation means his body doesn’t work in the same manner. He certainly doesn't sweat, he also doesn't have tear ducts anymore. Nick wouldn't mind finding out in what other ways John is special.

Another waitress in an apron like Edna's brings the pancakes. Unlike Edna, this girl cannot help but stare a little at Nick's damaged face. It's nothing. Nick's used to it. As long as there are no insults to accompany the glances, it's all completely harmless. And anyway, he's in enough of a good mood to forgive. The pancakes smell heavenly and, when Nick tries them, they taste even better. The buttery taste of the pancakes themselves is wonderfully complemented by the right combination of spicy, sweet and sour the mutfruit jam offers. It's just like the breakfasts Jenny used to make... not for him, he reminds himself, but for the real guy.

'Oh this shit's good,' John says in appreciation as he, too, begins to eat.

'Apparently, there was a well-preserved cook book from before the war left around here somewhere. Jose Lopez picked it up and thus, this diner was born,' Garvey explains.

He waits until they're done eating before he goes into details regarding the detective job.

'Last month, we had a saboteur here,' he starts, grim as he recalls the events. 'That's how it all began. Somebody sabotaged one of the generators in the power plant. They're connected in quite elaborate chains, Nate designed them to maximize output. The saboteur incapacitated the main generator in the biggest chain and all others collapsed. Nate called it something... a... dominion effect?' He frowns.

'Domino effect,' Nick supplies. 'A pre-war game with tiles. They could be set up in such a way that dropping one would collapse the entire construction.'

'Yes, that. Exactly,' Garvey agrees. 'It gave us a major blackout for a good few hours. Would've been worse, but Nate's one hell of a mechanic. Got the power up and running in no time. The sabotage wasn’t the end of it, though. Nate caught the culprit, put him in jail and promised a fair trial… only the guy was dead by morning and believe me, Nate sure didn’t kill him.’

‘A murder! How exciting,’ John exclaims. He looks up at Nick with gleeful, twinkling eyes. ‘It’s just like the old times, Nicky. You and me, together, solving crimes for the good of mankind!’

‘God preserve us,’ Nick replies dryly, rolling his eyes. ‘Apologies, Mr. Garvey. We’re not trivializing the case, John’s just lacking in the brain-to-mouth filtering department.’

‘At least someone’s enthusiastic,’ Garvey says, shaking his head. ‘We’re at a loss here. There’s no motive, no murder weapon, no damn evidence at all. Let me take you to the clinic, the body is stored there.’

The clinic, apart from being a new building with three floors and a balcony on the rooftop, is more like what Nick is used to nowadays, besides the cleanliness which seems to be a new standard here in Sanctuary. But the medical instruments are all the post-war regulars. The beds are mismatched, some from before the war and others crafted from scraps. The sheets are all new though. The cotton harvest must've been really good.

The body in the backroom is rather well-preserved, after five days of being stored without a freezer. Nick suspects he knows exactly why and his suspicion is confirmed by the woman who runs the clinic, a Doctor Francine Halley.

‘The victim’s a synth,’ she says. She sounds tired. ‘Institute synth, to be exact, real Andy must’ve been replaced at some point. Pity. He was a sweet kid,’ she sighs. ‘Now, problem is, I only know he’s a synth because there are parts of his brain _missing_ ,’ she informs.

She shows them the brain itself. It looks… well, like a brain, but with components removed. Where most of the synth brains Nick’s seen usually have a vaguely organic looking, thick wire with a chip (the _remote control circuit_ , Amari called it), there’s torn tissue instead. The synthetic pituitary gland is missing as well, and, most obviously, the memory storage component normally placed behind the gland is gone. There’s also some general bruising consistent with blunt force trauma. It’s pretty clear how the victim was killed.

‘Synth hate crime?’ John suggests, staring at the brain in morbid fascination. Nick sees his fingers twitching. He knows what it means. If he could, John would very readily fondle the organ just to test what the texture is like.

‘Certainly looks it,’ the doctor agrees.

Nick shakes his head, though. ‘No, it doesn’t seem right. Look, I’m not saying the perp’s much of a synth fan,’ he admits to the dubious expression on their faces, ‘but it’s not the reason this guy died. Look, you couldn’t tell a third gen synth from Steve, biologically. I know a specialist, she’d tell you the same thing. But here, the incisions in the brain matter to remove the memory storage unit? Someone knew exactly what they were looking for and how to get it.’

‘You think harvesting the synth parts was the objective,’ Garvey concludes.

Nick nods grimly. ‘And it wasn’t for trophy either, I’m afraid. The components were removed with surgical precision. It’s likely they’re still intact. Question is, what would anyone need synth parts for?’

‘Easy,’ John announces. ‘They’re building a robot.’

Nick wonders if John sometimes even tries to think things through before he says them out loud. ‘John. Robots don’t require synthetic brain components,’ he explains patiently.

‘Okay, wrong word choice,’ John admits sheepishly. ‘But a synth. Someone may be making their own synth.’

‘Or, more likely, the Institute sent an assassin to retrieve the data once they realized their guy was compromised. They didn’t want us to get our hands on it,’ Nick says patiently. He turns to Garvey. 'The body was found in detainment, yes?'

'Yes,' Garvey admits. 'This part is the strangest yet, though. Come, I'll show you.'

He leads them beyond the residential area into a fenced part of the city which seems to be empty. It's not until they reach an elevator platform when Nick realizes they're going to a vault.

'You keep prisoners underground?' John asks in disbelief.

Garvey shakes his head. 'Not typically, no. It's really disturbing, now that you mention it,' he admits. 'People died here. They're buried outside. Nate's wife, among others,' he pauses. 'We use the vault to store supplies, actually,' he explains. 'We've never had need for a prison before, so when it arose, we didn't know what to do. Someone suggested temporarily keeping Andy down there until a better solution comes up. It never did, like I said, he was dead the next morning.'

They ride the elevator down to the vault. Nick's only ever been in one of those before, but Vault 114 for all of it's vastness and emptiness really doesn't compare to the real thing. Even just the lobby is like a crypt. The air is thick and heavy, the light is dim. It's cold, which makes it a perfect place to store food, but Nick wouldn't want to spend any more time down here than strictly necessary. It's like taking a stroll inside a mass-grave. He doesn't like it.

They pass the lobby and enter the inner vault through the giant metal gate left open. There are crates piled up on either side of the corridors, forcing them to walk in line rather than side-by-side.

'Here,' Garvey says when they reach a small room with a glass wall and sliding door. 'We used this place as a holding cell. See if you can find anything we missed.'

Nick can already tell there's nothing of interest to be found in the room. It's really tiny, a few square feet. There's a working lamp on the ceiling and a bedroll on the ground. No signs of forced entry on the door, no blood stains on the walls, nothing.

'What's that?' John says, crouching next to the bedroll. He reaches underneath it and procures an object. He passes it to Nick, smug and proud of himself for finding a possible clue. It's a holotape with no label.

'Anywhere we can listen to this?' Nick asks Garvey who nods.

'The guest house should have a working terminal,' he says. 'Let me take you. It can serve as base of operations and lodgings for you. I'll have an additional bed moved in-'

'No need,' John interrupts him, grinning.

Before Garvey can ask, Nick says, 'I don't sleep.'

He notices the somewhat disappointed face John makes and, damn it, he's not made of stone. Shaking his head, he adds, 'Also, we're married.'

Which isn't true, obviously, but it's not like anyone will call him out on the lie. It's worth it to see John's eyes light up. One day, Nick's sure he'll do something really stupid for this man. It doesn't even worry him. He's resigned to his fate.

'Congratulations,' Garvey says. There's not a bit of irony in his voice. He seems genuinely happy for them. Nick finds he begins to like him.

They leave the vault and Garvey shows them to what he calls the guest house. It's a building like the others in the residential area, big enough to comfortably house a family, but small enough that it doesn't take up too much space. The design is simple, cubicle-based with two stories. The walls are metal and concrete, painted brown to look a bit like wood. There are also real glass windows and cotton curtains dyed a natural light blue color. The first floor is the living room, a bathroom with running water and a small kitchen. There is a fireplace in the living room, along with a recently re-upholstered pre-war couch which takes up most of the space. The stairs lead up to the second story with a bedroom and an office.

'Most houses in Sanctuary are family homes,' Garvey explains. 'Some are inhabited by two or three families together, it's a space thing and a community thing. But Nate insisted we have places for people who have no families and, of course, guest houses. In the future he wants to build real apartment buildings and a hotel, but he says it can't be done without certain machines.'

'This is still quite neat,' John announces. 'Were these structures already there when you found this place or?...'

'Nate brought us here from Concord over a year ago,' Garvey says, 'and there were only a few of these houses here then, plus the wall and the power plant. He built them himself, with help from Codsworth. We built the rest when the settlers started coming. There's over fifty houses now, inhabited by almost a hundred families.'

'It's incredible,' John mutters. 'It's a completely different world from Diamond City and Goodneighbor.'

'We have a similar policy as Goodneighbor, though, it seems,' Garvey supplies, smiling. 'Everybody is welcome until proven hostile. Nate insists discrimination brings more harm than benefit. I'm... not so sure we should trust people, but he's the General.'

Nick really wants to meet that Nate person. He wonders if it's possible for somebody to be as good a guy as everyone claims this one is. It'd certainly be refreshing. The world post-war is usually a rather bleak place when it comes to good people. What reason did a vault-dweller have to establish a settlement – to build a city, actually, and to become the General of the Minutemen? How does this work out to the man's benefit? Why does everyone seem to inherently trust his word, to follow his lead? Even Fahrenheit, who Nick knows to be the most suspicious young woman in the Commonwealth when it comes to strangers. What's so special about that vault-dweller?

Yes, Nick is really eager to meet him one of these days and see for himself.

There's a terminal in the office upstairs. After Garvey leaves, Nick checks it out while John sets up the fireplace. The holotape is damaged, unfortunately, the first half is completely incomprehensible, but the three remaining logs are interesting enough on its own.

_'Day twenty-three. Subject moves a lot between the place and other locations. No progress recorded in search for A. Recommended action: immediate removal of distractions. Further observation to be commenced._

_'Day twenty-four. Subject remains distracted. Battle efficiency confirmed: twelve hostile targets destroyed during scheduled attack on the place. Subject not harmed. No progress recorded in search for A. Recommended action: Unchanged. Further observation to be commenced. Discretion advised._

_'Day twenty-five. Subject's perception confirmed. Diversion completed successfully. Presence discovered. Subject exhibits strong moral code and an attachment to abstract concepts like justice and law. Subject receptive to the concept of B. No progress recorded in search for A. Recommended action: immediate removal of distractions. Request extraction. Further observation not to be attempted.'_

Nick listens to the logs a few times, attempts to discern what their purpose may be, when they were recorded and how it all pertains to the murder. The voice on the tape is not familiar to him, but even so, he can tell that it sounds unnatural, like it was recorded by an automaton and not a person. It's strange, because Nick knows synth don't sound like that. Even the first gen have some basic inflection to give them the semblance of a real person's voice. This tape, however, was recorded by somebody who did sound anything like a human being at all. If the author was indeed that Andy fellow, either something was seriously wrong with him mentally that it caused duality in his interactions with others versus how he acted when in solitude, or the good people of Sanctuary are much less perceptive than the average sponge.

The office is well equipped. Nick appreciates it as he finds a thick notebook and a pen. It's a far cry from his favorite pen which is probably lost forever now, but it writes in a clear blue line without smudging. Nick writes down everything he's found out until now; admittedly, it's not much, but it's a start. At least it helps him narrow down the actions he needs to take next, namely: talk to the people involved and see the victim's house for any more clues.

'This fireplace is a wonder,' John announces when Nick comes downstairs. 'I could bake in front of it all day.'

'No, John. Don't get baked,' Nick says, slipping in the drug joke because why not, 'we have work to do. That is, if you still want to help me.'

That gets John on alert. 'What, you're serious? Damn right I wanna help ya. Just didn't think you'd want me to, what with my track record and all.'

'Desperate times call for desperate measures,' Nick informs him. He barely resists the urge to roll his eyes. 'Since Ellie's not here, you'll have to do. Hope you can be resourceful.'

'Just tell me what to do, my man, and you'll be surprised,' John promises. He's just as eager to be useful as he was years back in Diamond City, during the happy times when he lived at Nick's place and ate all of his pre-war candy. Nick hopes at least this time, it won't end up with John getting kidnapped by a self-appointed mafia boss as a form of revenge for who-knows-what. It would be awkward.

Nick thinks a moment, looking into his notes. 'I need you to find out who was on guard duty in the Vault on the day of the murder and question them. If they saw anything suspicious, what their routine entails, what their views on synth are. You know the drill. When you're done, I'd like you to find the patrolmen from when the power plant was sabotaged. Question as many as you can find. Meet me in the diner later.'

'Guards at Vault, patrols in power plant. Gotcha,' John says with a big grin.

They part ways. Nick heads to the Minutemen base where he hopes to find Preston Garvey again, or at least somebody equally as helpful. A young woman with dark skin and blue war paint on her face greets him there.

'Ye da dick?' She asks, giving him a very judgmental look.

Nick nods, but doesn't speak.

The woman grins. 'Good. Synth business gotta be handled by synth cops, ya 'ear me? Them Institute spies, dey bad news, but heck, we all deserve objective justice, ye?' She announces. There is something very confrontational about her. Maybe it's the thick accent Nick can't really place, or the no-nonsense tone of her voice, or both combined.

Nick smiles. 'That's what I'm here for,' he assures.

'Yah. Yer cool,' the woman decides. 'Name's Rwenani, but folks 'round 'ere call me Ruru. Anythin' da Minutemen can help ya with?'

'Actually, yes. I was wondering if you could direct me to any friends or family the victim had,' Nick says.

Ruru frowns, thoughtful. 'No family, nah,' she claims, 'but Andy had friends. He lived with Joule and Leroy, methinks. Both in da Watch. They should be home now, if ya wanna talk to 'em. Just be careful, Leroy's real bitter about synths right now and ya dun wanna make 'er mad.'

'I may try to convince her I'm just a really sick ghoul,' Nick jokes.

Ruru laughs, running a hand through her thick curly hair. 'Oooh, yer funny,' she decides. 'Ya try dat, but call me 'fore ya do. Wouldn't wanna miss dat show. Leroy's not one ya wanna mess wit.'

Nick nods. 'Thanks for the warning. I'll take my chances without the bullshit, then. I'm just trying to solve a murder here.'

'Ye, she might accept dat,' Ruru decides. 'Ya need guidance or sumthin'? It da house just behind da clinic, damn pretty one, widda porch an' all.'

'I'll find it,' Nick says, then bids Ruru farewell.

This place, it's interesting. How can such an open community exist without becoming a lair of shady folk like Goodneighbor? There must be something about that Nate McDonough person, some kind of story behind his creation of this settlement. Some darker reasoning, because the world doesn't seem to have an over-abundance of good people left in it anymore. It's difficult to believe someone would just build a city from scratch out of the goodness of their heart. Even stranger still is this general adoration everyone seems to be feeling towards the guy.

On the other hand, there are men and women with enough charisma to charm even the toughest hearts in this world. Nick knows. He's in love with one.

He finds the house and meets the friends of the real Andy. Leroy is a thin redhead dressed in a black military-style uniform. She eyes Nick suspiciously the whole time he explains why he's there. Joule is a lanky teenager, looks about seventeen, has a bad case of acne and a very badly cropped hairstyle.

'We knew it weren't Andy,' Leroy mutters when Nick asks about the last couple of days. 'He called Joule a _he_. Andy knew. He wouldn't.'

'I'm neither boy nor girl,' Joule explains. 'Or sometimes I'm both. Or either. It's complicated, I'm sorry, I know it's weird.'

'It's not,' Nick says politely. 'You are who you are, kid. Now. You say you knew he was replaced?'

'Yeah,' Leroy admits. 'Andy never would've gone done something to hurt Joule's feelings, like. They were best buddies.'

'We're from the same settlement originally,' Joule says. 'Andy used to date my sister. We knew each other for three years... but for the last couple of days, it was like he was a different person. I guess he was. He became... obsessed. With General McDonough, I mean. Followed him around all the time. So when he sabotaged the generators, it was like... yeah. It fits. That guy's not our Andy. He was replaced.'

This is the kind of new information Nick's been hoping for. 'Did the General notice?'

Leroy snorts. 'You bet he did! Came out here, asked point-blank what the hell it was all about. Got some cryptic bullshit answer about shadows and objectives, and that was it. He didn't do a thing about it, so I guess he just thought Andy wasn't a threat. You know, a stalker, yea, but all bark and no bite. Guess he wasn't wrong. Damn robot got gotten and all.'

'You ain't got a problem with Sam being a synth, though,' Joule quips at her, rolling their eyes. To Nick, they says, 'We haven't touched his bedroom yet. If you want, you can take a look. Doubt you'll find anything useful, synth Andy hadn't used it much, but I dunno. You're the detective.'

Nick does take a look around the bedroom, almost as messy as any room John's ever lived in, and finds another piece of the puzzle there. A locked terminal is no match for his affinity with machines. He gets into some of the more interesting parts of Andy's private journal and learns one thing for certain: the man was not replaced with a synth because he had always been one.

_Acadia was a flawed home, but I miss it anyway_ , one of the earlier entries says. _It was easier, being human there, surrounded by others like me. They say Sanctuary can be home to anyone, too. I don't know. Most people seem cool, and this Samuel Richardson? He's amazing, and everyone knows what he is, but nobody minds. Joule even got me to sign up for the Nightwatch because they wants to be like the guy. Wow. Does this mean I could be myself here one day? If I tell them, won't they shun me? I wish DiMA were here to answer my doubts. Wonder how they're doing out there..._

Another entry, second to last, is less optimistic. _Someone found out. I'm sure of it. It's stupid. That guy, always following me, always in the shadows. Why me? There's so many of my kind here. Why can't I walk freely around like everyone else? I never asked for this. That guy, he's creepy, but nobody would believe me. Gonna have to deal with it. Gonna have to resolve this. He can't keep doing this._

The last entry in the journal, dated a little over three weeks ago, is completely different. It immediately reminds Nick of the holotape: it's written in the same impersonal style. It's short and concise, just two lines:

_Initiating task: observation of subject Nate McDonough, designation: Glowbird2077._

_Objective: achieve understanding of subject's movements, bring to FD after observation period._

Nick can't imagine what happened between the last two entries to change a guy's writing style from loose thoughts to what seems to be an observation journal. If he had to guess, he'd say a personality wipe, but he doesn't know if that's even possible. He wishes he were a bit more knowledgeable in terms of how synths function, but shamefully, he's not even sure how his own systems work. Would someone be able to hack him? Would someone be able to _hack_ a third generation synth?

He'll just have to assume that's what happened until a better hypothesis comes up. It's disconcerting, because it seems to point to him being hack-able as well. He never considered the possibility before. One more thing to add to the list of topics he needs to discuss with Amari: upgrades to his security system must be long overdue.

He doesn't find anything else in the strangely messy room and goes back to Leroy and Joule to ask about the possible stalker. Leroy doesn’t remember anything suspicious from the specified timeframe, but Joule becomes thoughtful.

‘There might’ve been something,’ they says, frowning. ‘Andy kinda fretted a lot… didn’t want to do patrol alone when Sierra got sick. Like he was scared of something in the dark, you know?’

Nick nods. ‘He claimed in his journal that someone was stalking him. Any idea who it might’ve been?’

‘Difficult to say,’ Joule sighs. ‘Sierra might know. When he’s not running with the Nightwatch, he’s part-time bartender in Sanctum, down by the market. Got real good root beer, if you’re into that kind of thing. He should be there now, I think he’s not up for duty for the rest of the week.’

Nick thanks them and heads out to find the bar. In his head, he creates a chronological picture of what he already knows: that Andy, a synth from somewhere called Acadia, came to Sanctuary with a friend and joined the Nightwatch; that, at some point, he acquired a stalker; something happened which changed him into a data-gathering drone instead of a normal person. He sabotaged the power plant in order to – gain attention? – then got caught and, subsequently, got killed while in lock-up underground by means of head trauma with a blunt instrument. Memory components from his brain were harvested. Questions which remain: who is the culprit; is the culprit the same person who stalked Andy into paranoia; what method was used to change Andy’s entire personality; how was the deed done in such an enclosed space; and finally, what was the motive? Obviously, the killer wanted the memory components, but what was stored in them that he needed to commit murder to acquire them? How does it all connect to Nate McDonough, the mysterious man running this place when he’s not running about the Commonwealth?

He walks into the bar, chuckling to himself when he thinks how John would make it into a joke: _a synth walks into a bar_ … The people inside are scarce, probably because it’s early: besides the barkeep, there are two women and three men, including a ghoul, at the bar, all engaged in loud conversation. Save for one of the men, they are dressed in the same black militaristic uniforms with blue Minutemen insignia like what Leroy was wearing. The man who’s not dressed in one is who first notices Nick’s approach.

‘Good day, weirdly familiar-looking stranger!’ He greets. ‘Are you the detective Preston told us about?’

‘So it seems,’ Nick admits, joining the group. ‘Nick Valentine,’ he introduces himself.

‘Samuel Richardson,’ the man says, grinning as he shakes Nick’s hand; he doesn’t even flinch at the sight of the skeletal metal fingers. ‘These guys are Monica Bells, Jemima Haught, Meds and Randolph No-more, all my buddies from the Nightwatch. And the good lad there,’ he points to the bartender, ‘that’s Sierra Jones, also my man. All friends here.’

‘It’s a pleasure,’ Nick replies, nodding to the new acquaintances. ‘I’ve heard good things about you, Mr. Richardson.’

‘Please, call me Sam,’ Richardson requests solemnly. ‘If I have to listen to any more formalities after my siblings-in-law, I’ll rip my ears off.’

‘Sam, then,’ Nick agrees, smirking. ‘I had the pleasure of meeting your wife earlier.’

‘She’s lovely, isn’t she, my Edna,’ Richardson says, grinning. ‘You gotta meet my little girl Tully sometime.’

‘Don’t let him get started,’ Meds advises, ‘the guy won’t shut up.’

‘You wish you had a wife and kids, but you're gonna be wrinkled and lonely forever,’ Richardson counters. ‘You married, Nick?’ He asks, looking at Nick expectantly.

He doesn’t enjoy being so suddenly put in the spotlight. ‘I am,’ he says, once again stretching the truth because Hancock would be ecstatic to hear it. ‘No children in my future, though.’

‘Never say never,’ Jemima interjects. ‘Sammy’s a synth too and here he goes, second kid on the way.’

‘Leave the man alone,’ Randolph No-more says, slapping her playfully on the arm. ‘He’s here on business, not to share his private life, ain’t that right, Nick?’

‘I’m trying to solve a murder,’ Nick admits, though honestly, he doesn’t mind the easy companionship of folks who don’t care that he’s a synth at all.

‘Yeah, poor Andy. Good guy,’ Richardson says sadly.

‘I heard he was convinced there was someone following him a few weeks back,’ Nick explains.

Sierra the bartender perks up. ‘Uh. You think it’s true?’ He asks. ‘Because yeah, he was paranoid. Kept saying there were eyes on him all the time. Mocha, remember?’ He addresses Bells. ‘He called them eyes something… We thought it was really fucking weird.’

‘Fish eyes,’ the woman supplies. ‘Blank, fish eyes. He was creeped out alright.’

‘Fish eyes, huh,’ Nick says. He frowns. ‘Ghoul, maybe? Their eyes can be terrifying when you’re not used to it.’

‘Wait,’ Richardson says. ‘You don’t mean he really saw someone? Because we didn’t see anyone, man, I swear.’

‘Definitely not a ghoul,’ Meds says. ‘No others but me around.’

‘And mayor Hancock,’ Randolph No-more adds. ‘He came with you, yeah? I saw him this morning.’

‘Yes,’ Nick replies, nodding. ‘He’s my husband,’ he adds for clarity and thinks he might have to see about actually making it true sometime soon. He wonders what sort of ring John would prefer. Would a simple gold band suffice, or would he rather like something extravagant, like a diamond ring?

‘No,’ Randolph No-more says in disbelief. ‘The mayor settled down? Seems kinda far-fetched… No offense, mate.’

‘None taken,’ Nick says calmly. He knows all about John’s adventures in bed-hopping. He doesn’t even mind. He’s not programmed to feel jealousy, after all. Even if he does feel it, a little. More than a little. Still. The past is the past. John's with him now.

‘Back to the point, though: you’re absolutely certain you haven’t seen any suspicious individuals following Andy around? Ghoul or otherwise.’

‘You know what, I don’t know,’ Richardson says. ‘It’s been a few weeks. Around the time he started acting odd, that was sometime mid-September, yes? We had harvest, a new trade agreement with a settlement up north, three Brahmin calves were born… Busy times. I’m not saying we ignored Andy’s descent into insanity, but-‘

‘We actually kinda did,’ Sierra interrupts him.

The group look among each other, varying degrees of guilt etched on their faces. Finally, Richardson sighs and mutters, ‘Damn it, guys. We failed him, didn’t we?’

Nick doesn’t say anything. There’s nothing he can say. He doesn’t judge, because he can understand how what seems like a man’s delusions may be discarded in the grand scheme of things. That’s how society works. In this case, the result was a tragedy.

Still, it seems nobody’s seen anything. The only new information Nick’s acquired is the vague description of the stalker’s eyes, which may or may not point to a ghoul. No evidence, no new clues. Hopefully, John’s got something from his talks with the patrolmen and the guards from the Vault. If not, Nick’s going to have to broaden his search, maybe interrogate even more people.

Damn it to hell and back, it’s not what they’ve come here to do, but he can’t give it up now. These people in their safe haven of a city are counting on him.

He meets John for lunch in the diner. John smiles at him, that dopey smile always seems to wear lately, and Nick decides, _to hell with what people say_ – and plants a tiny kiss on the corner of John's mouth. He smirks at the dumbfounded expression John makes.

'I just told six people we're married,' he informs John. 'I think it'd look suspicious if-'

'Oh, you bastard,' John says and pulls him down into a kiss which is far too indecent for a public space. Then, with a self-satisfied grin, he slides into one of the booths and looks very smug.

Nick's too old for this.

As it turns out, John's late morning and early afternoon were more productive than Nick would've suspected. He did manage to track down the Minuteman who was on patrol at the time of the sabotage, a guy named Rusty.

'He was supposed to have a partner, they always patrol in pairs,' John says as they wait for their meal to arrive, 'but the partner never showed up. It was supposed to be this new guy. A ghoul. Rusty was all excited, regular ghoul fanboy, that kid, reminds me of Gladson kinda. Ended up doing the patrol alone and he spotted the saboteur too late. Still feels guilty about it, too.'

'There's only one ghoul in Sanctuary, besides you that is,' Nick informs him. It all doesn't add up. Unless the Nightwatch members lied to him, which is possible, but he doesn't suppose they had any reason to: they seemed perfectly willing to admit to their own guilt in neglecting to take Andy seriously. It'd be strange if they said all that and then, in the same breath, to lie about the ghoul thing. Of course, it would make sense if they were trying to cover up for someone...

Nick doesn't want to believe it, though. He sincerely hopes Sanctuary's Minutemen are the good people they seem to be.

'Hey, I'm just telling it how I heard it,' John says, shrugging. 'You're the detective, I'm just the errand boy.'

'You haven't been a boy for two decades,' Nick teases.

John frowns. 'Are you calling me old? Nicky, if you're not careful, you will be sleepin' on the coach tonight.'

'I don't sleep,' Nick reminds him unnecessarily, then changes the subject. 'Anything from the Vault guards?'

'One guard,' John corrects him. 'Someone called Joseph Fields. Didn't find him. Went over to his place, found it empty. Wife and kids gone as well. Folks say he legged it, but...' he trails off. At Nick's questioning look, he goes on. 'Well, let's say I know what places look like after someone runs away from them. That place is not that. There's a damn cap stash in the cupboard, there's food in the kitchen. Nobody running away would leave that.'

'You don't think,' Nick starts and John nods.

'They're dead, Nick. Don't know where the bodies are, but I'm sure there's enough crooks and nannies to stash a corpse or four around this place,' he adds.

'Hope you're not planning to kill anyone and stash a corpse, Mayor Hancock,' says Edna Sawyer, walking up to them with utensils in a basket. She sets the napkins, knives and forks on their table, grinning. 'Although, if you do, would you mind burying it on the cemetery? It'd save the boys a lot work digging.'

John laughs. 'Don't worry, sweet beans, this ghoul's not a cold-blooded killer. Ladykiller, maybe,' he flirts outrageously.

Edna giggles. 'Always so smooth,' she says fondly. 'Who knows, Mayor, if I'd met you before I met my Sammy...'

'I won't be giving up hope, then,' John counters playfully. 'Might be, you'll come to appreciate a little trip to zombie-land, just the two of us.'

Edna smirks. 'Are you sure you're okay propositioning me, a very married, very, very pregnant woman... and in front of your husband, too?'

John blinks. 'Dammit, Nicky,' he exclaims, 'we only just arrived today! Does the whole place know by now? Who did you tell, a local radio anchor?'

'I met Sam Richardson in the bar earlier,' Nick replies calmly. He looks at John completely unfazed, forcing a blank expression on his face. 'He was accompanied by friends, one of whom apparently knows you, at least by reputation. Randolph No-more ring any bells?'

'Oh fuck,' John swears, looking surprised. 'I thought the bugger went and died already! Well if you told him, probably half of the Commonwealth knows by now. He's a giant gossip. Like, Irma doesn't compare. Even good old Mags ain't half the talker stinky No-more is!'

'What's up with the name, by the way?' Edna asks, lowering her voice conspiratorially and taking a seat next to John

The two of them begin to exchange stories and gossip, and Nick drowns it out after the first few minutes. Something's making him restless: something Edna said, or- Of course. The cemetery.

'Excuse me a minute,' he says, getting up. 'I have something I need to check. It was nice seeing you again, Edna. John – I'll see you later in the house.'

'I can be your back-up,' John offers, but Nick shakes his head.

'Have a good meal, rest. I'll probably need you later. Wait for me,' he requests.

Then he goes.

He doesn't quite make it to the cemetery before he hears gunfire from the direction of the clinic. He picks up speed and comes upon a regular war zone strewn with bodies. In the post-apocalyptic world, Nick’s never yet seen a sniper this efficient before. Three more Minutemen are down before they realize what is going on. There's Ruru there, hiding behind a makeshift barricade made of chairs. There's also Garvey, he barks an order to take cover and ducks behind a street lamp which can’t really be called a shield. Nick acts fast; he rips out a door from its frame in one of the houses and runs to Garvey’s side, barely makes it before a bullet lodges itself in the wood where Garvey’s head was a second ago.

‘Fuck,’ Garvey breathes, ‘thanks!’

Nick nods and looks above the door, follows the trajectory of the shots with his eyes. He’s not hard to find. The sniper is perched on the roof of the clinic, towering above the residential area. He’s dressed in black, his face is covered. Nick abandons the safety of the cover and tries to fire in his direction, but his range of his new gun isn’t good enough. The sniper fires back and a bullet hits Nick’s revolver which falls to the ground with a clutter. The next one pierces the artificial skin right below Nick’s collarbone, passes through him and goes out between his shoulder blades. The pain is excruciating, but fleeting; Nick doesn’t drop to the ground, but he almost hits a streetlamp in his attempt to hide from the sniper’s line of sight. This is bad. If he could just find enough cover to reach the building of the clinic...

Garvey must be somehow reading his mind, because the next thing Nick knows, the remaining standing Minutemen all throw smoke grenades. In the following chaos, Ruru yells at him to go, so Nick runs towards the open door of the clinic, ignoring the pain in his chest, gun at the ready. He gets in and climbs up the stairs, then the ladder to the roof.

The sniper is waiting for him: he can see the line of the laser scope on his chest as soon as he steps foot on the rooftop. The rifle is the next thing Nick notices, or rather its massive, modified barrel. It's pointed exactly where his heart would be, were he human. From such a small distance, there is no way the sniper will miss.

'Good afternoon,' the sniper says from behind the rifle. His voice is rough and raspy, and even though his face is completely hidden behind a mask and a pair of goggles – _fish eyes_ , Nick remembers – Nick can tell he's without a doubt a ghoul.

'Stand down with your hands in the air!' Nick shouts, raiding his gun to take aim at the sniper's head. Not the best strategy, but it's not like he has much choice.

'Why would I?' The sniper asks. 'Come now, Mr. Valentine. I was polite, why don't you try it too?'

'You know who I am?' Nick asks, surprised.

'I know _what_ you are and who you're _pretending_ to be,' the sniper replies, amusement lacing his voice. 'Far as I remember, real old Nicky Valentine was shorter. Kinda easier on the eyes, too, though not by much. Had your habit of sticking his nose into other people's business, though.'

Nick frowns. 'Who the hell are you?'

'That, robot man, is other people's business,' the sniper says. 'I don't have the time to be explaining anything. I will tell you, though, because I'm sure you're investigating this: I did kill poor old Andy the synth. Now, back to important business. You a friend of my Nate's?'

'What?' Nick asks and his frown deepens.

'Dude, you've got to run some diagnostics, I don't believe you were always this slow on the uptake,' says the sniper mockingly. 'Nate McDonough, you know him?'

'I do!' Nick lies quickly.

'Good!' The sniper decides. 'In that case, you'll be a dear and make sure he gets this,' he accentuates the last word by throwing something Nick's direction. It lands on the ground by Nick's feet with a _clang_ type of noise. Nick looks away from the sniper for a second to see what it is; when he next looks up, the sniper is gone. His rifle is all that's left of him, discarded like it's not a unique and rare weapon at all.

Nick makes sure the sniper is really gone, then picks up the item left for Nate. Dog tags on a chain, like what people from the army used to wear in the pre-war world. There are three plates instead of two; a set and one single tag. The unpaired one is misshapen, looks scorched, but the name _Nate McDonough_ is still visible etched in the metal. The plates making a set say _Ford Dagby_. The name rings a bell, but to his surprise, Nick finds he can't really place it. Maybe he really needs to work with Amari on those additional memory systems. Shaking his head, Nick pockets the tags and notices the front of his coat and shirt are wet. A rusty stain blooms on his chest. Great. With all the excitement, he must've missed the coolant leak.

Actually, now that the excitement is dying down a little, the damn wound hurts.

Now, from Amari’s numerous warnings, Nick knows that with this kind of injury, there’s two ways it can go. He may either never be bothered by it again, or one more hit in the general area may completely collapse the entire structure of his spine and, for lack of a better term, kill him instantly. And there’s no way to tell the outcome before it arrives, unless of course he asks someone to shoot him in the chest. He can almost imagine John’s face in reaction to that request.

He rejoins the Minutemen and is immediately ushered back to the clinic. Garvey doesn't even let him help out with the injured men, just treats him like one. Strangely, nobody is dead. Whatever the point was of this attack, the sniper clearly didn't intend for there to be any more corpses... for now.

Because the doctors need to tend to the humans whose organic wounds require immediate attention, a nurse who introduces herself as Janel offers Nick some free stimpaks and helps him dress the exit wound he can’t reach. She seems immensely fascinated with Nick’s physiology, and no wonder: even after Amari’s modifications, his body mostly resembles a pile of metal trash roughly covered up with semi-organic rubber. It makes absolutely no sense for Stimpaks to work on him, but they do. He'd be intrigued too if he was in her place. Still, when she stares a bit too long for Nick’s comfort, he says,

‘You can ask questions, you know. I’ll answer if I know how.’

‘Oh, I-I… Uh, sorry,’ the woman stutters, blushing fiercely. ‘It’s just that… well, I’ve never seen your kind before. I mean, you’re not exactly second generation, but you’re not like Sam Richardson either. Doctor Halley says there’s no difference biologically between us and third generation synths and I believe her, but… if that’s the case… how did they make the leap to that kind of complexity from, well, from you?’

‘Rude,’ says Ruru, bandaging her arm where a ricocheting bullet hit her.

The nurse blushes again. ‘I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to… you know, to be rude, I’m, I’m just so interested in the history of synth, and the research, and how the Institute even managed such a magnificent feat. I mean, look at Sam Richardson! He’s just so… so…’ she trails off.

‘She got a crush on Sammy,’ Ruru explains in a scenic whisper.

‘Oh screw you, Ruru!’ Nurse Janel protests. She looks at Nick. ‘I’m so sorry, this must be very uncomfortable for you, I swear I’m not normally this unprofessional…’

Nick nods. ‘It’s fine,’ he assures her, ‘it’s good to see so much lively youth in one place. Not much of this out there.’

When both his wound and Ruru's are dealt with, Nick turns to the woman. 'I was on my way to check something before that sniper got us. Would you like to come? I might use some assistance.'

Ruru smirks. 'Wat, ya too chicken ta go by yerself now, huh?' She teases. 'Dun worry, detective, dis gurl's yer gurl if ye need an ass kicked.'

The cemetery on the hill around the entrance to the Vault is small and peaceful. The graves are marked with tombstones, all engraved with names and dates. Most belong to people from before the war who apparently died in the Vault. There's one marked _Nora McDonough_. There are fresh flowers on top of that grave. Nick doesn't let Ruru see his confusion at the date of birth – pre-war – and the post-war date of death. He's pretty sure he'd understand if he actually met Nate McDonough. Seems there's yet another story there he's missing.

Nora's grave is not what he's looking for, however.

'Has anybody been buried here in the last few days?' He asks, looking around.

Ruru thinks. 'Yeah, me think so. Sandra Norton,' she says and points to the grave. It doesn't look any more fresh than the others, but it may be because of the recent storms. 'Got killed dead by a deathclaw, tragic. Why? Ye've a corpse fetish or sumthin'?'

'I believe poor Sandra's got company down there,' Nick says, feeling a heaviness overcome him. A bad feeling. 'A man called Joseph Fields and his family are missing.'

'Ole' Joe an' Clara? Fuck dis shit,' Ruru swears. She finds a shovel, hands it to Nick when he reaches for it. He's a synth: he's got more stamina. He can dig faster.

'Dat fucker killed dem?' She asks, watching Nick work with a grim expression.

'I think so,' Nick mutters. 'He killed Andy at least. He told me.'

'Who _is_ dat guy!' Ruru exclaims, kicks a pile of dirt, swears again. 'An' why de fuck is Nate gone wen we fuckin' need 'im!'

'Please calm down,' Nick says, but he doesn't begrudge the woman her rage. He pushes the shovel into the ground once again, pulls it out and swears, discarding it.

'I have my answer,' he whispers.

There's a hint of color under the dirt, a piece of pink fabric. It's not deep enough to be the rightful owner of the grave. Ruru kneels at the edge of the hole, removes more dirt with her hands, fast and feverish – then gasps and tries to put the dirt back, to cover what she found.

Nick helps her up and allows her to hide her face in his chest when she sobs.

Only when Ruru calms down somewhat, Nick picks up the shovel again and buries the body of a little girl under a thin layer of dirt, just enough that no scavengers can get to it. He's sure Garvey will send people to deal with it later.

Sometimes, there's nothing worse than being right.

They call in the Minutemen and assist with the dealings that follow. The grave proves to indeed contain five bodies instead of one: the entire Fields family. From the preliminary examination, doctor Hughes confirms that at least, they died quickly, from a bullet in the head. It's hardly a consolation. Nick knows he couldn't have saved them – he didn't even know about their existence until a few hours ago – but he still can't stand it. Their killer is still on the loose, out there, and Nick didn't manage to catch him. He was so close – but he failed.

It’s dark out already when Ruru insists on escorting him back to the guest house, in case the murderer re-emerges. She doesn’t say anything on the way, though, she's been silent after the horrible discovery they've made. They reach the guest house and Nick bids her farewell, but before he goes in, Ruru looks at him with her strange, pale eyes, still red from when she cried, and warns,

‘Ya be careful, yea? With yer wound. Not enough good folks out there, y’know, gotta stick up fer those left.’

Nick smiles, though it pains him to do so. ‘I’ll be careful,’ he promises.

It seems to satisfy her. ‘Get rest,’ she mutters. ‘See me before ya leave town. Gonna give ye sumthin’ helpful, yer ghoul sweetheart too.’

Nick just nods. He's really, really tired.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many original characters in this chapter! A little roadmap of those who will appear again so that everyone can keep up:  
> \+ Edwin Sawyer - Hancock's secretary whom I love dearly and cannot keep out of the story;  
> \+ Edna Sawyer-Richardson - Edwin's younger sister, married and pregnant;  
> \+ Sam Richardson - Edna's husband, 3rd generation synth;  
> \+ Ruru - member of the Minutemen, has a strange accent;  
> \+ mysterious sniper - ???
> 
> The others are rather minor characters, or if they appear again, they'll be expanded :)
> 
> Also, yeah, 3rd generation synths can reproduce with humans in this verse. It's not confirmed nor denied in canon, anyway, so it doesn't contradict anything as far as my research goes. 
> 
> Coming next:  
> Nick and John's true purpose in Sanctuary Hills, and finally: Nate McDonough makes an appearance.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is going to be long. Just saying. So much plot. So many characters you've yet to meet.  
> If it's enjoyable at all, please leave a comment! Kudos and comments mean a lot to me.
> 
> Visit me on tumblr if you'd like to talk, I'm most--curiously--blue--eyes :)


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